


Double-Booked

by IndianSummer13



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, F/M, First Time, Light Angst, Smut ahead, holiday fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-10 00:28:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12900087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndianSummer13/pseuds/IndianSummer13
Summary: “Look, Holden Caulfield,” Veronica says. “It’s not like Betty and I signed up for a vacation with you either. But we’re not leaving now that we’re here, so unlessyouare, you’re gonna have to share. It’s the fairest way.”Or, when Betty and Veronica book a stay at a lodge in Vermont over Christmas, the last thing they expect to find is the place already occupied.





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> I got a snow day last week and this story is the result of that. Hope you enjoy.

“Maybe we should turn back,” Veronica suggests as Betty steers her friend’s Lexus past yet another car abandoned at the roadside.

“It’s only another twenty minutes V,” she replies, eyes flitting to the navigation system only briefly before they fix back on the road. “The city’s six hours away now. Maybe closer to eight if you factor in the snow.”

“I guess,” Veronica replies. Without looking, Betty can sense the way her friend is gripping the sides of the passenger seat as the road coils around the steep mountainside. “I do want to be _alive_ at Christmas though.” 

“Aren’t we escaping Christmas? I thought the whole point of coming here was -”

“- Betty!” Veronica shrieks, wincing and ducking as a truck comes at them, dumping snow across the windscreen. Betty holds the wheel steady, avoiding the temptation to brake, and points her nose ahead. 

The car doesn’t so much as skid once.

“Veronica, close your eyes,” she instructs. “I’ll let you know when we get there.”

  
  
  


They arrive at Maple Lodge approximately twenty minutes later - much to her satisfaction (she _does_ always feel a sense of peace when everything goes to plan, especially timing-wise) and Betty lets the car roll to a stop on the snow-covered gravel. The building in front of them is already lit - incredibly welcomingly, she thinks - with tiny Christmas lights adorning the porch’s wooden railings. 

“Have we crashed?” Veronica asks tentatively, peeking open one eye before realising where they are and clapping excitedly. “You did it B!”

They step out of the car, the biting cold of Vermont’s winter nipping at their faces immediately. They’re dressed for December in terms of jeans, sweaters and boots but their coats are packed inside of two suitcases (one extremely large for a week-long trip: Veronica’s; one packed with military precision and housing what she’s told some people might consider an alarming amount of pastel sweaters: Betty’s).

“They said the key would be under the mat,” Veronica says, grabbing her suitcase from the trunk. Betty collects hers too and one of the coolers of food they’ve brought and they struggle up the steps to the porch. “I know he’s an ass,” Veronica huffs, dragging her case up the final step with a huge amount of effort, “but we could really use Reggie and his muscles right about now.”

Betty thinks of their neighbour across the hall back at Columbia - and then his roommate, Chuck Clayton - and decides that if she had to bring in every single item from the car herself, it would be preferable to having either of them within a five-mile radius. 

She lifts the mat in front of the door in order to find the key, but it isn’t there. “Are you sure they said under here?” she asks, already lifting the potted plant to their right. They key isn’t there either. “It _does_ seem a little trusting. Maybe there’s one at the back?” 

Veronica fishes in her purse for her phone and brings up the email screenshot. “Under the mat by the front door,” she reads. “Look.”

Betty does, as though her friend is unable to read correctly, and then immediately feels a little guilty. “Well the lights are on. Maybe they decided to meet us here?”

Needing no more invitation, Veronica knocks loudly at the door, then winces as her cold fingers shoot with pain. “Hello?” she shouts impatiently, stamping her feet and folding her arms against the freezing air. Without waiting for a response, she bangs on the door again - this time with the side of her fist - and adds, “It’s effing freezing out here!” 

Moments later, the door opens and a guy with red hair and a puzzled expression blinks at them.

“We thought the key was supposed to be under the mat,” Veronica tells him, pushing past and into the lodge’s warmth. He steps to the side after taking an accidental hit with her purse but it’s something of a redundant gesture. “Would you mind?”

She indicates the suitcase waiting on the porch and this time, the guy scratches at the back of his neck. “Who are you?”

An expression of indignance is written across Veronica’s face, as though she can’t believe the appalling level of service they’re receiving. Something tells Betty that the person now standing between them is _not_ the cleaner.

“Betty Cooper,” she answers quickly. “And Veronica Lodge. We booked this place for the week.”

“Uh, there must be some mistake,” the red-head says, scratching at his neck again. Betty figures it might be a nervous tick. (She’s become pretty well-versed in recognising them on others now.) “ _We’ve_ booked this place for a week.”

“What?!” Veronica snaps. “That’s impossible.”

Betty’s heart sinks. It’s not like this trip had been her idea and initially, she _had_ only agreed because Veronica had been pretty much abandoned by her parents for Christmas, but by the time her own mom had berated her over the phone for her approach to finals (and for many other things) she’d been pretty excited to get away from everything too.  

Plus, if she has to drive back to the city with Veronica’s tendency to have a mini meltdown every time they pass another vehicle, it might just be the death of her. 

“Betty, come inside,” Veronica instructs. “We can sort this out where it’s warm.” She then looks pointedly at the lodge’s occupier before sliding her eyes to her case and back again.

Betty almost laughs when he actually hauls it inside.

She follows him in, setting down the cooler and her case on the wooden floor of the hallway, then closes the door. She shivers again in the warmth and rubs her hands along the soft material of her cream sweater. Her fingers are red and the faded crescents on her palms are sore from the cold, but the lodge is warm and she hopes desperately that it’s the guy who’s made a mistake, not them.

He produces his phone from the back pocket of his jeans, scrolls for a short time, and hands it to Veronica, who eyes him sceptically before taking it. Betty watches as her friend slides her perfectly-manicured fingers across the screen, her deep red nails clacking lightly as she zooms in. 

“Well what are we going to do?” she huffs, handing the phone back. “We just dove six hours and we’re not going back.”

“Neither are we,” he says, and Betty’s pretty sure she watches something very close to excitement flit across Veronica’s face before it disappears again just as quickly. 

“We?” the women both ask in unison, and as if on cue, another male voice shouts, 

“Archie?”

Veronica strides past the man who Betty assumes to be Archie, disappearing in the direction of the voice.

“Um…” he begins, doing that neck-scratching thing again before offering a suspiciously forced smile. “Do you want to come into the living room?”

Betty laughs - just a singular rumble that reminds her she’s still cold - and then nods. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  
  
  


There’s someone else who appears to be around their kind of age sprawled out on the couch in front of the fire and a large-screen tv, complete with video games. The heat of the room is welcoming and she notes, mentally, that Veronica has already removed her sweater. It’s warm, Betty decides, but not hot - and so deems that her friend must have some sort of plan if the tight green tank top is anything to go by. 

The man on the couch looks questioningly at his friend, who appears completely bewildered. “They’re supposed to be staying here,” he tells him. 

“With _us_?” he asks.  

“No, not _with_ us. But I guess the owners screwed up. They’ve driven for six hours.”

“In _treacherous_ conditions,” Veronica adds, looking up from the nail she’s inspecting.

“So did we. It was so bad that we had to abandon the car and walk the rest of the way,” the man on the couch offers with a shudder, as if the memory itself is actually painful. It’s only then that Betty realises he’s wearing some sort of grey beanie in the shape of a crown. She wonders whether he might have thinning hair beneath, then silently scolds herself for the thought. Who’s she to judge if he _does_?

“Okay, so we all had long journeys,” Betty says, suppressing the sigh that’s building. “But we’re here now and the snow’s pretty bad. Can’t we just share bedrooms?” 

Veronica lifts an eyebrow and Betty rolls her eyes. “I meant, the guys can share and so can we.”

“Nope,” the man on the couch decides, setting his controller down so he can sit up to address them properly. “I was sold this vacation on the promise that I’d get my own room. _And_ the promise of _solitude_ ,” he adds, shooting a pointed look at his friend.

“Look, Holden Caulfield,” Veronica says. “It’s not like Betty and I signed up for a vacation with you either. But we’re not leaving now that we’re here, so unless _you_ are, you’re gonna have to share. It’s the fairest way.” 

“She has a point Jug,” Archie concedes. His friend looks so helpless though, that Betty can’t help but feel bad. And really, the couch looks comfy enough. She’s just happy not to be in Riverdale with Alice Cooper.

“This place has three bedrooms right?” she asks. “So you two take one each; Veronica can have the third and I’ll take the couch.” 

“What?!” her friend shrieks. “No B, absolutely not. They can -” 

“-Done!” the beanie-wearing guy shouts, and just like that, it’s decided.

It’s quiet for a moment, with everyone appraising each other until Betty clears her throat. “V, we should probably go get everything from the car before we get too comfortable in here.” 

She’s probably a little late with her suggestion considering her best friend has already removed her sweater and appears to be ready to kick off her boots too, but it _does_ result in something that surprises her. 

“We’ll help,” Archie says. “Won’t we Jug?” 

That’s twice now that Betty’s heard the red-head call his friend after a kitchen item, and she doesn’t mean to pry or seem rude, but she’s curious. “ _Jug_?”

“Jughead Jones,” Archie elaborates. “His real name is worse so we call him that. And I’m Archie. Uh, Andrews. And,” he turns to Jughead, indicating Veronica with his hand. Before he can introduce her though, the brunette cuts in. 

“Veronica Lodge: your pleasure. This is -” 

“-Betty,” Jughead finishes, and Betty doesn’t miss the way the other woman lifts an eyebrow half-impressed, half-insinuating something she doesn’t want to acknowledge. “You said her name,” he elaborates, as if to justify himself. “A lot.” There’s a slight stutter to the way he says it and Betty finds her lips creeping into a smile.

“Betty Cooper,” she confirms. “And the car’s just outside. We can manage.”

“Well if you’re sure…” Jughead starts, but receives such a glare from Veronica that he immediately holds up his hands in mock-surrender. “I was kidding.” He rises from the couch as if to prove a point. “Jeez.”

  
  
  


It takes only one trip each to bring in the other cooler; the bottles of wine Veronica had insisted they take from her father’s collection “as punishment”; Betty’s pillow and the rest of the food that hadn’t needed refrigerating for the trip.

There’s a strange sort of happiness in Jughead’s eyes, Betty notes, when he sees the amount of food, and he seems actually willing to help her put it away while Veronica questions Archie about his plans for the week ahead.

As it turns out, the men had arrived only a couple hours before them during a blizzard that had made it incredibly difficult to see. A sharp bend had caught Archie - who’d been driving - off-guard and they’d ended up in a ditch. They’d figured they’d bring the car up to the lodge the following day. 

“I can’t believe you managed to get that car here in one piece,” Jughead muses as he hands Betty various items from the cooler. “Did you buy the _entire store’s_ worth of cheese?” 

“No,” she replies pointedly, half-snatching the gouda from his fingers. “V said she was bringing wine and I need snacks when I drink.” 

“I need snacks at all times so maybe this isn’t going to be as bad as I thought.”

Betty closes the refrigerator door. “You think this is going to be bad?”

He shuffles uncomfortably and winds a wave of thick, dark hair that’s fallen out from under his beanie around his fingers. “Maybe not bad,” he acquises. “But it’s not what any of us had planned, right?” 

“Right. But it can be fun,” she replies with the amount of optimism that only comes with years of forcing it into existence. “It’s _going_ to be fun.” 

“You don’t get up early do you?” Jughead questions. “Because if you do, then it’s definitely not going to be fun for me.”

For a moment, she doesn’t answer, turning to put away the cookies and chips. “I’ll make sure I’m quiet,” she says - and ignores the groan that leaves his lips.

  
  
  


“Okay, so house rules,” Veronica begins, holding up her glass whose contents slosh worryingly close to the rim. “The bathroom nearest my bedroom is for Betty and me. The other one is for you guys.”

Jughead dips a tortilla chip into the salsa and mutters a “shit,” when the triangle snaps in two.

“Seems fair,” Archie shrugs, either missing or not caring about the size difference. “Video games.” 

At that, Jughead sits up and Betty focuses on her glass of wine which is going down incredibly well. Despite the fact that Veronica’s dad has jetted out of the country, leaving his child alone at Christmas, he appears to have excellent taste in wine, she thinks.   

“You can’t complain about Jug and me playing them.”

“Fine.” Veronica rolls her eyes. “Betty, anything you want to add?”

She thinks for a moment, then swallows her wine. “The dishes. That’s my job.”

Both of the men crane their necks to look at her like she’s just spoken a different language but Veronica waves it away. “She likes them done in a certain way and cleaning makes her happy. Let her have this one.”

“No complaints,” Jughead says and winks in her direction. For some inexplicable reason, her cheeks grow hot and she takes what can only be described as an unladylike gulp of pinot noir.

(She’s not sure whether or not it’s a direct result, but Jughead doesn’t interact with any of them for the next hour.)

  
  
  


They spend the remainder of the evening drinking their way through three bottles of wine and eating a worrying amount of cheese. Betty chalks it down to having not had any dinner, and tries not to think about whether or not she and Veronica are safe here, surrounded by thick forest with two men they don’t know.

They don’t appear threatening in any way though, and had both been content enough to lounge around eating each other’s food and drinking their way through more of Hiram Lodge’s wine collection than perhaps they should have.

The fire’s died to nothing more than smouldering ash and Betty’s been stifling yawns for the past half hour, unable to go to bed when said bed is actually the couch Jughead is lying on. Her friend however, doesn’t try anywhere near as hard to be polite. 

“I’m exhausted,” she sighs dramatically, covering her yawn with her hand, but making enough noise to rule the gesture pointless anyway. Betty wonders how she manages to get away with everything she does, especially considering her upper-class upbringing. Maybe though, it’s because she’s actually incredibly nice. 

She’s never had a friend quite like Veronica Lodge before. 

“Archiekins?” she asks, and the red-head looks up, unflinching at the nickname. Betty thinks she hears Jughead allow himself to chuckle aloud, but it’s quickly masked with a cough. “Would you walk me to my room?” 

When he rises from where he’s stretched out on the floor, there’s a satisfied almost-smirk playing across Veronica’s lips, and Betty has to try incredibly hard not to roll her eyes.

“We might as well get him a leash now,” Jughead says, and she can’t help but laugh a little herself.

“I’m going to go get ready for bed,” she tells him, pointing her thumb in the general direction of the bathroom and bedrooms. He nods and she heads off to retrieve the pajamas and toothbrush she needs. 

When she returns, she finds Jughead - dressed in plaid pajama pants and a grey t-shirt with a large ‘s’ printed on the front (and also, his beanie - strangely enough) setting a pile of quilts on the couch. He draws them back and slips under the layers.

“What’re you doing?” Betty asks.

“You didn’t really think I’d let you sleep on the couch did you?” he asks, voice gentle. He suddenly seems so much softer, Betty decides. Like the hard edges from earlier in the evening have been scrubbed out. 

“I’ll be fine,” she counters. “Really. The bed in my dorm room is pretty uncomfortable anyway, so I’m kind of used to it.”

“Betty,” Jughead says, tilting his head in such a way as he says her name that her stomach ripples. It’s both uncomfortable and pleasant at the same time. “Take the bedroom.”

Gone is the alcohol-induced haze from his eyes that had been present an hour or so ago and she finds herself comparing the deep blue of his irises to the ocean on a hot summer’s day. “Thank you,” she says, wrapping her arms around herself. It’s much colder now without the fire’s flames and she’s pretty certain that if she doesn’t cover her chest, Jughead would be able to see more of her than either of them want to. 

He nods and she heads in the direction of the bedroom he’d previously claimed. Just before he turns out the lamp, she turns and catches him looking after her. “Good night Jug,” she offers quietly, shortening his name the way Archie had. 

“Night Betty.” 

She shuts the door of the bedroom behind her, sinks into the soft mattress and falls asleep instantly.  

 


	2. Day Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys are amazing! Thank you so much for all of your comments, kudos and mentions on Tumblr. I'm so full of holiday spirit right now.
> 
> Tropes everywhere here. Let me know what you think x

A clattering is what rouses Jughead way before he wants to be woken. He thinks he might hear a faintly mumbled “damn it,” but it’s early and he’s a little disorientated and there’s a feminine lilt to the words so maybe he’s mistaken.

And then he remembers.

Betty and Veronica: his vacation solitude hijackers.

The banging of a kitchen cabinet is what he hears next, and he groans, lifting the pillow from under his head and sinking it back down over his ears. Making a mental note to berate Archie later for not forcing them to leave, he sighs internally: this is _not_ what he signed up for.

He figures he must drift back off pretty quickly though because the next time he makes a conscious thought, it’s regarding the smell wafting through from the kitchen. A culmination of pancakes and bacon, coffee and maybe even... _home fries_?

Jughead rubs the sleep out of his eyes, stretching as best he can on the couch - which is quite well, it has to be said - and feels around on the carpet for his discarded beanie. He tugs it down over his hair and draws back the quilts, the air nowhere near as cold as he’d been expecting.  

He pads towards the kitchen and finds Archie already sitting at the counter watching Betty cook. She’s still dressed in the pajamas he saw her in last night, except she’s also got on a grey Columbia hoodie too. _No need to cover her chest with her arms_ , he thinks, then immediately cringes - borderline disgusted with himself for recalling so quickly the evidence of how cold she’d been last night.

“Good morning,” she says brightly.

The noise he offers in return is probably more of a grunt than anything else but it doesn’t seem to derail the positivity train she appears to be riding.

“Would you like some breakfast?” she asks. “I’ve made plenty.”

There’s something so hopeful in her eyes - out of place, he decides, when she’s only just met him - and so he rams the comment about her being loud when she cooks back down his throat before it can surface. Call it Christmas spirit.

“Sure,” he says, and then remembers to add, “Thanks.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Betty replies. “Considering you gave up your bedroom.” It really isn’t, and if she’d known how much more favourable the lodge’s couch is than what he’d had in high school, perhaps she wouldn’t be so quick to think of him as a martyr.

Jughead only shrugs in response, ignoring Archie’s raised eyebrow. “Where’s your friend?”

“Veronica’s not really an early riser,” she says, setting a plate in front of him before sliding some of the potatoes from the skillet onto it. “You good with these?”

“I’m good with all food,” he replies, stabbing one of the little cubes with his fork before he’s even received a pancake or bacon.

He watches with mild curiosity as she smiles at his comment - an action that pulls up from the corners of her lips all the way to her eyes so they crinkle a little at the edges: a real smile, he figures.

They eat breakfast seated around the counter, the plate full of food left for Veronica kept warm by the oven until she surfaces just as Archie’s pouring them all a second cup of coffee.

“Good morning all,” she practically sing songs, and when Archie turns his head in her direction, he loses focus. Perhaps it’s just a coincidence but the coffee meant for the cup ends up pooling on the granite as he takes in Veronica’s silk pajama shorts.

Jughead fights an eyeroll when the only reason he knows about the accident is when Betty begins wiping with paper towels and he looks down in the direction of his hand. “Shit,” he mumbles, setting the coffee pot down before jumping off of his seat to help Betty with the clean-up.

It’s kind of like watching animals at the zoo, or maybe little kids in the playground, and he just hopes it doesn’t become nauseating. If there was ever in incarnation of his best friend’s type, it’s the woman who looks like she belongs in a catalogue for cosy winter wear (the kind where almost all skin is on show but then there’s a pair of thick-knit socks covering cold feet as a token gesture) Jughead decides.

“It’s okay; I can fix it,” Betty says in such a strange, uneven tone that his attention drifts from Veronica in plum silk to the blonde with her bottom lip tugged between her teeth wiping at the spillage like her life depends on it. “It won’t stain,” she adds, although Jughead thinks it might be more to herself than anyone else in the room.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a clutz Archiekins,” Veronica croons as she settles herself on the seat next to his at the end of the counter. “A star football-playing musician. Thought you’d be good with your hands.”

“Good _lord_ ,” Jughead murmurs. He’d meant for it to be under his breath but Betty lifts her head in his direction and this time, her lip gets tugged between her teeth in order to stop from what he thinks might have been a laugh. A knot he hadn’t known was present loosens in his stomach as she finishes wiping and throws the paper towels in the trash.

He decides not to think about what it means.

“Breakfast V?” Betty asks, taking the plate from the oven regardless of her friend’s upcoming response, and Jughead finds himself hoping that the raven-haired object of Archie’s clumsiness is the kind of person who doesn’t eat pancakes, bacon and potatoes.

As it turns out, she isn’t.

(She is however, the kind of person who asks a _lot_ of questions in rapid succession)

“What do you guys have planned today?” she says, stabbing a piece of pancake so miniscule that she might as well not bother. Jughead tips his cup of coffee to his lips so that Archie has to answer this one (much like he has with the other six hundred and seventy-eight - _approximately_ )

His friend looks at him like he has the answer - which he doesn’t: it’s not like they made any actual plans other than coming here - and he shrugs. “Uh, well we’ve gotta go get the car I suppose. The road’s probably clear enough now for us to bring it up here.”

Both women look like they’re waiting for the next item on their list of plans, and when it doesn’t come, Betty asks, “Is that it?”

This, Jughead thinks, is precisely why he hadn’t wanted to share the lodge. He wants to be able to lounge around and do nothing in peace.

“Call us unambitious,” he says a little more curtly than he’d initially intended.

“I didn’t mean -” she starts, but her words are interrupted by Veronica.

“-Well that won’t do. Betty and I are going to check out the outdoor spa at Sugarbush if you want to join.”

Jughead does _not_ want to join. Unfortunately for him, his mouthful-of-coffee-so-as-not-to-answer trick backfires because he hears Archie say, “Sure.”

“What? Archie, you know what a spa is right?” he panic-questions. “They make you wear _robes_.”

“Yeah, imagine how _awful_ it is being all cosy as you walk from the pool to your massage appointment,” Veronica shoots back with an eyeroll. “Stay here if you like,” she continues. “But you’re coming, right Archie?”

He offers a somewhat guilty expression in Jughead’s direction but says “Yes,” anyway, and just like that, he’s been abandoned. He’d make some reference to his own family but doesn’t really feel like dwelling on the past or having his own personal pity party right now so keeps quiet.

Betty loads up the dishwasher, Archie and Veronica head to their respective bathrooms to shower (which he feels is entirely pointless considering they’re going to get wet later anyway) and he’s left to contemplate whether or not to write or play a video game.

He chooses the latter and is just selecting his weapon when Betty sits down on the couch beside him, all hopeful-looking like she’d been when she’d asked if he wanted breakfast.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” she asks. “I’m not a big fan of spas myself but they _can_ be kind of relaxing, and at least you wouldn’t be alone.”

He wants to say that that’s how he likes it, but she’s not done.

“I’m also pretty sure it’s just going to be one big flirt-fest between those two and I could kind of use someone to talk to.”

He pauses for a moment to internally question whether he can bring himself to wear a robe, let alone do it in public. There’s also the issue of her seeing him in swimwear and it’s not like he’s particularly self-conscious about his body, but he also knows that he’s not Archie. It’s a little confidence-denting to be in the presence of someone with such defined abs regardless of the work he’s done on his arms lately.

“Or I could stay here I guess,” she muses aloud.

Instantly, he feels bad and wonders if that was actually her intention - but when he turns his head to look at her, there’s nothing in her eyes to suggest an ulterior motive. He notices, at this point, that her eyes are in fact a rather piercing shade of green.

“ _If_ I come,” he starts, and already that hopeful look is back. “Are you down with a running commentary as we people-watch? You can’t judge me for it.”

A tiny giggle escapes her lips and he finds the corners of his own mouth twitching upward in an involuntary smile. “Sounds good,” she says. “I love spectator sports.”

He turns off the video game and (with a less downcast outlook than he might have imagined initially) resigns himself to a few hours of pruned skin and sarcastic comments.

  
  
  


Jughead is not accustomed to having people pay his way. He’s especially not used to having a stranger do it (or, more accurately, a stranger’s dad - judging by the name on the black card Veronica hands to the spa’s receptionist) but she’d insisted and so by the time he’s tightening the belt on his robe around his waist, he’s regretting having agreed to this little excursion.  

Archie, it seems, is not regretting anything.

“You’re practically drooling and you haven’t even seen her in her bathing suit yet,” he tells him, finally relinquishing his beanie. He stows it away in the locker that the rest of his clothes are in and shuts the door.

“What? I’m not.”

“Your eyes are shining.”

“I’m happy.”

“Because you’re about to see Veronica in a bathing suit,” he replies, to which Archie just grins. He can see now why Betty had wanted him to come: the flirting _is_ going to be painful.

“She’s pretty great though right?” he says, like he hasn’t only known her for less than twenty-four hours.

“She’s stolen my solitude.”

“If that’s your story,” Archie replies, heading out of the locker room and towards the outdoor area. “Although I remember you saying you weren’t coming. I think _Betty_ stole your solitude.”

Jughead decides not to answer, and pulls the belt around his waist even tighter.

The girls aren’t yet anywhere to be seen when they reach the pool, and Jughead is grateful that he can remove his robe without being witnessed. The spa is - so far - more on the quiet side than he’d been expecting so aside from a middle-aged man and woman swimming determined lengths, he and Archie are the only ones in the pool.

Betty and Veronica appear a few minutes later in their white robes and Archie actually lifts his hand in a wave as if his hair wouldn’t have already alerted them to their presence. When Jughead sees Betty’s hand reach for her belt, he turns his attention the other way so she doesn’t feel self-conscious about removing it in front of them (not that she should, he thinks, casting his mind back to the three outfits he’s already seen her in).

He can’t see, but he’s almost certain that Veronica will be putting on a display for Archie if their walk here was anything to go by. When he feels small ripples lap against his upper arms, he turns and sees Betty swimming gracefully towards him, hair still tied back in the ponytail she permanently seems to wear.

“Hey,” she smiles warmly, and for a moment Jughead’s not sure if she’s actually talking to him or not. He takes a chance on the guess that she is, and offers something of a smile-come-grimace as he catches Archie splashing Veronica out of the corner of his eye.

“Isn’t the view incredible?” she says, half-sighing as she joins him at the edge which looks out over the mountainside’s slope. “I should’ve brought my camera.”

“You take pictures?” he asks, a little shocked to find himself genuinely interested. He’d been thinking the same thing himself and had made the decision earlier to take a walk back up here later in the week to get a few shots (minus the spa visit, of course).

“Not seriously,” she says, as though it’s something to be embarrassed about. “But I when I see something beautiful, I like to take a photo to remind myself of it. You know, for the days when -” Betty stops abruptly, as though she’s caught herself just before saying something she shouldn’t.

He doesn’t pry. “I like to take pictures too,” he decides to tell her. “There were some places on the way here that would make good shots.”

She tilts her head towards him from where it’s resting on her arm against the side of the pool. “If you decide to come back to get them, I could come?” she offers. At least, he thinks it’s an offer.

“Uh yeah,” he replies. “Sure.”

Despite the fact that the water had initially been warm - undoubtedly due to the freezing air - Jughead’s beginning to feel the cold again. Betty appears to be feeling the same way: there are tiny goosebumps rising on her skin and before he can realise he’s been staring long enough to notice this, she rubs at her arms and turns her mouth into a smile that’s more forced than others he’s seen from her. “I might do a few lengths,” she says, “to warm up.”

He joins her only because he’s cold and he can hear Veronica laughing at the other side of the pool.

  
  
  


He’s starving when they head back to the lodge. He hadn’t realised that lying around could burn so many calories, and so they take a detour to a little store so he can buy a sandwich to eat on the way back.

“I was going to make pasta for lunch,” Betty says, like it would have any bearing on him buying the sandwich.

“Go for it,” he says whilst paying. “I like pasta.”

They walk the rest of the way back in the two groups they’d intended to vacation in: him and Archie, and Betty and Veronica. The girls are a few paces ahead with thick coats shielding the cold and scarves muffling their necks. Their conversation, despite the words being indistinguishable, is very clearly about _them_ (although Jughead suspects it might feature Archie more than himself).  

“I like her Jug,” Archie tells him like they’re sixteen again and he’s blind.

“I know.”

“She’s like, really _different_.”

That’s not the word _he’d_ have used, but he guesses it’s fair. Despite attending college in the most populated city in America, he hasn’t met anyone quite like Veronica either. (He counts it as a good thing.)

“You know, it’s less than an hour on the subway between NYU and Columbia.”

Jughead doesn’t even try and disguise the eyeroll. “When did you google that?”

“After breakfast.”

 _Figures_ , he thinks.

  
  
  


The afternoon is spent lounging around in front of the tv with the fire going and despite not being able to stretch out on the couch because he’s sharing it with Betty, Jughead has to admit, the day hasn’t been horrible.

Veronica has shuffled close enough to Archie on the other couch that he’s able to drape his arm over the back of the seat so his fingers rest on her shoulders, and Jughead’s suddenly very aware of his own limbs and their proximity to the blonde next to him. She makes no effort to shift any closer however, and he tries not to think about how she smells kind of like baked goods, fabric softener and a hint of musk.  

When the movie finishes, Veronica suggests they eat dinner then take a dip in the hot tub, as though they haven’t already spent several hours submerged in water. Of course, Archie deems this to be a good idea - no doubt because there’ll be another chance to see Veronica in a swimsuit - and even Betty agrees.

He stays quiet on the subject.

“How does everyone feel about maple-glazed chicken and potatoes for dinner?” Betty asks, and already he’s starting to realise there’s a definite perk to sharing this lodge. He and Archie would either be ordering take out or shoving a frozen meal in the microwave if it were just them.

“Amazing,” Archie says at the exact same time that Jughead replies with “Definitely.”

Veronica grins in her spot at Archie’s side. “You’re the best B.”

Betty shakes her head, embarrassed, he thinks, then heads off to the kitchen. Jughead flips through the tv channels a little absently, ready to pause at anything they can have on in the background until he hears muttering from the other couch. He looks up to find his best friend and the object of his affections pressed closer together than they’d been the last time he’d looked, and when Veronica raises an eyebrow with a smirk, he excuses himself to the kitchen.

He’s not even sure either of them notice.

“Hey,” Betty says brightly when she turns around from the sink to see him enter the room. “Dinner shouldn’t be too long but if you want a snack, there’s still some chips and salsa from last night.”

“I actually came in here so I didn’t have to witness what’s going on in there,” he says, heading towards the refrigerator. “But now that you mention it, I could eat some of that.”

“Are you _ever_ full?” she laughs - and it looks good on her, he thinks. Her eyes crease in the corners and her mouth looks wide and full, a hint of rosiness to her cheeks. He drops his own smile when he realises his face might be unconsciously mirroring hers.

“Medical marvel Betts,” he says, opening the door to hide his face in the cool air.

When he’s certain that there’s no flush to his cheeks, he grabs the salsa and finds she’s already set the chips on the counter for him. He takes a seat and eats while watching her scrub and cube potatoes. There’s a calculated carefulness to the way she does it, he observes: scrubbing gently but firmly, setting the potatoes on a paper towel to catch the water, then cubing into bite-sized pieces.

She repeats the process until she’s covered a baking sheet with little pieces of potato before scattering herbs over the top. He’s never even _bought_ dried herbs before, let alone thought to bring them on vacation. It’s at this point that she must realise he’s watching her, because as she drizzles olive oil across the herbed potatoes, she says, “Your eyes weigh more more than I thought they would.”

He frowns at her as she turns with a small smile. (It’s not the one that had accompanied her real laugh earlier.)

“I can feel your eyes on me,” she says. “That’s what I meant.”

“Oh.” Jughead shoves another salsa-laden chip into his mouth. “Sorry.”

Betty shrugs. “It’s fine. I thought maybe you wanted to help.”

With a mouthful of salsa, he raises his hands. “Trust me, you don’t want any help from me. I literally repel utensils.”

“Not the correct use of the word _literally_ ,” she says, the smallest hint of sarcasm creeping into her tone. It makes his lips twitch and he fights to keep them from smiling. “But I’m sure you can’t be that bad. You can help prepare the chicken.”

For some reason, he leaves his seat and joins her by the sink, washing his hands before drying them on his jeans. He looks up to find her watching him and thinks he might be about to be scolded the way a mother scolds her small child. In actual fact, Betty just shakes her head gently with a grin.

  
  
  


It transpires though, that his help becomes more of a hindrance.

“Fuck!” he curses as the knife slices through the chicken breast - and then his finger. The blood surfaces immediately - not in huge amounts, but certainly enough to make him feel a little squeamish at first.

(Growing up where he did, he’s not immune to how ironic that is.)

“What?” Betty asks, her face turning ashen when she sees the blood. “Oh God Jughead, you need to...here.” She takes his hand and pulls him to the sink where she proceeds to run very cold water over the cut. He watches as the water turns from a dark pink to a faded rose, to clear, and then when he looks at Betty’s face again, expecting to find her satisfied with the first aid job, he finds her lips forming a series of unvoiced words.

“Uh, Betty?” he questions, drawing his hand out of the water’s flow. His finger’s numb with the cold and he expects her hand is too. Her eyes snap up to his and she looks panicked. “You okay?”

“It’s okay,” she says in response. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” he says, shutting off the tap. “It’s just a cut.”

There’s a little more blood seeping out again now that his hand is out of the water and her eyes fix back onto it as if they’re magnetised. “You need a bandage.”

“Betty, I really don’t -”

“ -Put it back under here,” she cuts in, switching the tap back on and shoving his hand under the water before he has a chance to protest. Right as she draws her hand away, he catches sight of what he thinks are some marks on her palm. They’re in a line but he doesn’t get much of a look at them before she’s heading out of the room and in the direction of the girls’ bathroom.

She returns with a bandage and a tube of Neosporin which, if he thinks about it, is quite a strange thing to bring on vacation. The way she patches him back up makes him a little uneasy though - like it’s something she’s well-practised in - but he chooses not to say anything.

Sucking in a deep breath once she’s finished, Betty washes her own hands in the sink and dries them on the towel as opposed to her jeans like he had.

“Maybe I should stick to eating rather than cooking,” he jokes.

She gives him a somewhat shaky laugh and says, “It might be safer.”

He takes up his seat again at the counter and dunks another chip into the salsa.

  
  
  


“I propose a toast,” Veronica says, raising her glass of champagne into the air. “To an unexpected, but very welcome, surprise.”

Archie grins and lifts up his beer bottle and when Betty raises her glass, Jughead’s forced to join in. There’s an unforeseen outcome though, when she slips off of the hot tub seat slightly and brushes her hand against his knee in a bid to steady herself.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, quickly sliding back into place with her glass clutched close to her chest. He’s suddenly acutely aware of how little she’s wearing: she was already in the tub when he joined the group so he’s not exactly sure what her bathing suit looks like. He does know however, that it’s a bikini which is making it hard for him to keep his gaze from drifting lower than it should.  

He shifts a little closer to Archie.   

They don’t spend too long in the hot tub, thankfully for Jughead who’d be grateful not to see any more water - other than the shower - for a while. He and Betty watch as Archie holds out a towel for Veronica, his muscles contracting in the cold air as he shivers a little, and Jughead wonders whether they should place bets on how long it’s going to be before their friends are sharing a bedroom.

Not long, he thinks, if their expressions are anything to go by.

They all go their separate ways for bed however, and as he settles himself on the couch beneath the quilts, he thinks about how different this vacation might’ve been had it gone to plan. He’s not entirely sure he’s enjoying it right now.

He’s also not entirely sure that he _isn’t_ enjoying it either.


	3. Day Three

Betty wakes a little later than usual but concludes, after listening for any signs of life elsewhere in the lodge, that nobody else is up yet. She finds that her body isn’t tired in the exhausted sense, but that her muscles are a little sore from yesterday’s massage. It’s a good sore though - a kind of undertone that’s strangely pleasant.

She lies for a while in bed, wrapped in the soft duvet and feeling incredibly comfortable. It’s not long before her thoughts drift to Jughead though, lying out on the couch in the living room simply so that he’d be able to have the solitude he’d wanted from his vacation. Betty feels bad that both she and Veronica have interrupted that - albeit unintentionally - and even more so after yesterday’s spa trip. It wasn’t like he’d actually _complained_ about it, but she suspects the main reason he agreed to go in the end was so that she didn’t have to be a third wheel.

She decides to make him breakfast as a thank you.

He’d said that he liked pretty much all foods, so she doesn’t have to think too hard about what to make, although the groceries they’d brought with them limit her somewhat. Still, she thinks, there are eggs and some English muffins so perhaps she could make a florentine. They are, after all, Veronica’s favourite.

She gives herself another ten minutes to enjoy the softness of the mattress and then pulls back the covers to make a start in the kitchen. Dawn is just creeping up on the lodge, a band of weak, yellow light stretching across the sky. Although it isn’t snowing currently, it’s obvious from the lack of footprints outside the sliding doors that there’s been fresh snowfall overnight, and she finds the thought somewhat settling: yesterday has been wiped away and today’s a blank canvas.

Betty tugs the Columbia sweater over her head, the material swamping her a little so that when she washes her hands in the bathroom, she’s forced to push up the sleeves so as not to get them wet.

Once she gets to the kitchen, she sets the coffee machine on to brew first, then gathers everything she needs from the cabinets so as not to have to repeatedly open and close them at risk of disturbing everyone.

She’s halfway through measuring the butter for the hollandaise sauce when she hears footsteps on the floor tiles. She’s surprised to find that the sleepy “Morning,” comes from Jughead and not Archie.

“Good morning!” she replies. “Coffee?”

“Please,” he mumbles, tugging the beanie on his head a little further down as though it was in danger of falling off. (It wasn’t)

Betty sets the mug in front of him and pours in enough coffee that there’s barely room for any sugar. “Two spoons right?” she asks.

“You remembered that from yesterday?”

“Of course.” Her reply is bright but she suddenly feels a little self-conscious. Jughead doesn’t seem to think anything of it though, cradling the mug gratefully once she’s added the two mounds of white granules.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” she tells him, setting the coffee jug back on the warming plate. “I tried to be quiet.”

A few moments pass before he gives his reply, and when he does his voice is still rough from sleep. “You didn’t wake me. But if you had, this is the best kind of way to do it. What’re you making?”

“Eggs florentine,” she replies. “I was debating adding some crispy bacon on the side because there’s a little of that maple glaze from yesterday left over, but do you think it’s too much?”

Jughead swallows the mouthful of coffee he’s just taken and looks at her for a moment. Betty can’t fathom his expression and she’s about to say that it doesn’t matter, she’ll just cook the bacon anyway and people can have it if they want, but then he clears his throat.

“I’m not entirely sure what eggs florentine is, but if it’s half as good as what you made yesterday, then I’m pretty certain that there’s no such thing as too much.”

He lifts the mug to his lips again and it’s then that Betty notices his fingers: they’re long and kind of thin - not spindly but elegant in a way she’s never noticed before on a man.

“I’ll bare that in mind,” she says, and her cheeks flush a little as she turns back around to the stove.  

  
  
  


Jughead’s on his second mug of coffee by the time Archie joins them in the kitchen, and miraculously, Veronica appears just as Betty’s pouring the sauce over each poached egg.

“I smell my favourite brunch,” she says warmly, sliding into the seat beside Archie who’s not at all subtle about checking out her nightwear. Until she met her roommate, Betty had never seen anyone in real life wear silk to bed.

There’s a first time for everything though, it seems.

She takes the seat beside Jughead and they eat breakfast while discussing their plans for the day. In the itinerary Betty had drawn up back in New York, they’d set aside today for skiing. Her research had told her that Sugarbush also rented out equipment, so all they’d need to do is head back in the direction they’d gone yesterday.

“We were going to go sledding,” Archie says, which appears to be news to Jughead who stops chewing long enough to say,

“We were?”

“Well, we said we’d do it at _some_ point.”

“And today is some point?” Jughead questions with a mouthful of muffin.

“Oh Betty, don’t you think that sounds fun?” Veronica questions with such hope that Betty doesn’t have the heart to tell her about the sledding accident when she was younger. Hurtling into a snowman aged nine has done nothing for her relationship with sleds, and she hasn’t ridden one since.

When she looks at Archie, she sees the hope in his eyes too and so she figures that if nothing else, maybe she and Jughead could take some pictures while their friends flirt their way through the day.

“Sure,” she replies and Jughead nudges her with his elbow.

“You couldn’t sound more thrilled.”

Betty takes a sip of her coffee. “I haven’t had the best experience with sledding.”

She watches his mouth twitch at the corners as though he’s going to smile. His eyes even crinkle a little - dark blue-grey like the sky when a storm is approaching - but it never materialises. “You have to come. I can’t be the third wheel to that.” He tips his head a fraction in the direction of Archie and Veronica who are already discussing whether him pulling her to the slope would constitute a workout.

There’s a giggle that leave Veronica’s lips just then, and Jughead arranges his face into what Betty assumes is his best puppy-dog expression. “Please Betty. It’ll be _torture_ without you.”

Whether it’s his eyes or his words, she’s not sure, but before she realises what’s happening, she’s agreeing.

  
  
  


There’s a designated spot for sledding complete with little wooden huts selling funnel cake and hot mulled cider, and Betty thinks that the entire place looks as though it’s staged for a holiday movie.

Even Veronica looks like an actress, she decides (not that she doesn’t most days) in her red beret and fur-edged black padded jacket. Betty is bundled up in lilac pastel and white, with only the navy of her ski pants distinguishing her well from the snow. She’s beginning to think that not skiing today was a good call - the snowfall last night had obviously been more significant than she’d first imagined and already, flakes are starting to fall again (not ideal skiing conditions) That’s not to say that _sledding_ was a good call however.

“Should we rent one each or just get another so we have two?” Archie asks. Unlike Jughead’s hands which are stuffed deep into his pockets, his are gloved and holding the sled that had been propped up outside of the lodge’s back door.  

“One each,” Jughead says at the same time that Veronica replies with, “Just get one more.”

It doesn’t take a genius to work out who he listens to, and the one extra sled they acquire from the rentals hut fits neatly under Jughead’s arm as they climb the slope.

The top is much further from the bottom than Betty had expected. It seems ridiculous to think that, especially with her GPA, but she’s already sized up the gradient and decided she’ll sit this one out.

“Ladies first,” Jughead says, setting the rental sled down and motioning for her to sit on it. Archie does the same for Veronica and within seconds the brunette is settling herself ready for take off.

Betty shakes her head. “It’s okay - you go for it.”

Veronica frowns. “Come on B, let’s race!”

The memory of that thudding pain all of those years ago in Riverdale comes rushing back. She’d been racing Kevin ( _“first one to the end rules the universe!”_ ) and hadn’t seen the snowman until it was too late. It had been frozen solid from the previous night’s clear sky and the impact had resulted in a horrible mix of black spots and dizziness - and a broken wrist too.

Not to be repeated.

“Arch, why don’t you race her?” Jughead asks, his voice edged with a faux-enthusiasm Betty thinks might be there to mask her response. She’s incredibly grateful and Veronica seems content when the redhead squeezes himself onto the sled.

“You’re going down Archiekins,” she tells him, eyes narrowed and a smirk dancing across her lips.

“Kind of the point,” Jughead mutters just loud enough that Betty can hear, and a small giggle tumbles out of her lips. She clasps her hand over her mouth in guilt but Jughead only winks at her.

That rippling she’d felt in her stomach a day ago returns.

(It’s a little stronger this time)

“Motion sickness?” Jughead asks as they observe their friends hurtling down the slope, Veronica shrieking and Archie laughing as they nearly collide close to the bottom. Betty’s heart is in her mouth.

“No, just...it’s not really my thing.”

“Not your _thing_ ?” Jughead asks. “Isn’t it _everyone’s_ thing?”

Their friends reach the end of the hill unharmed and Betty lets out a small sigh of relief. “I had an accident when I was younger. Snowman. Sled. My face. My wrist.”

A burst of air sounding suspiciously like a disguised chuckle leaves his lips. “There are no snowmen here. Pus there was a sign near the rental hut: the run must not be obstructed.” His next words are almost a whine. “Don’t miss this opportunity to be completely cliche while our best friends struggle not to jump each other on the slopes.”

This time, she can’t help but laugh herself, dipping her head as she sees a grin stretch his lips across his face. He looks good when he smiles, she thinks.

“I faced my fears yesterday,” he continues, and she raises an eyebrow.

“Oh really? And what were they?”

“In no particular order: robes, massages, swimming in public, letting other people pay for things, hot tubs -”

“-Those fears are completely unfounded,” she cuts in.

“Have you ever removed your robe while standing next to someone like Archie Andrews? Not exactly the biggest confidence boost.”

Betty frowns. “You don’t have _anything_ to worry about in that respect.” As soon as the words leave her mouth and spill into the air, she wants to stuff them back down her throat and into her lungs. She hadn’t meant to say them. She’s not even sure she meant to _think_ them….just….there they were. There they _are_ now, still hanging in the air and dripping with tension.

“Let’s rent another sled,” he suggests softly, thankfully ignoring her words despite the pinkening of his cheeks. Betty’s almost certain hers are scarlet. “I’m determined to provide you with a satisfying sledding experience. We can start from further down.”

It’s undoubtedly less dangerous for her simply to agree now, and so she keeps her mouth closed and nods her response. Jughead grins.

They pass Archie and Veronica on their way down - him actually pulling her up the hill like she weighs no more than a small child - and they look at them quizzically. “We’re renting another,” Jughead says before either of them can voice their questions. Archie shrugs and Veronica raises an eyebrow which Betty pointedly ignores.

In the line for the sled, Jughead sniffs into the air. “That funnel cake smells amazing.”

“I’m not sure sledding on a full stomach’s a good idea though.”

“That’s the thing Betts,” he says, the single syllable of her name dancing off of his tongue as though he’s always called her that. As though he’s known her longer than just two days. “I never _have_ a full stomach.”

“You’re telling me you weren’t stuffed after dinner last night?”

“Nope.”

Instantly, she’s disappointed in herself. “I should’ve made more.”

“What? No, that’s not what I meant,” he replies, shuffling forward as the people two couples in front of them take their rental and make towards the hill. “You could literally cook an entire grocery store’s worth of food and there’d still be room for more in here.”

He gestures to his stomach which is hidden beneath a sheepskin jacket, but all she can think is that there isn’t an ounce of fat on him anywhere. Not in a bad way….just...she’d noticed yesterday that he’s incredibly lean.

Betty’s face flushes again and flippantly, she replies, “I bet your mom’s food bill was insane when you were in high school.”

He seems to blanch at her words, a hand coming out of his pocket to rub at the back of his neck somewhat harshly. Too harshly, she thinks. She wants to still his fingers so they don’t make the skin sore.

Her own stay by her side and she changes the subject when he doesn’t answer. “We could have pizza for dinner tonight? Order in. I saw some local takeout menus in one of the drawers in the kitchen.”

“Pizza sounds good,” Jughead replies in a tone that indicates it doesn’t sound good at all.

Betty makes a mental note not to mention high school, bills or his mother again.

They climb part way up the slope once the rental sled is tucked under Jughead’s arm. Archie and Veronica whiz past them again, both shrieking and laughing and looking like they belong in a commercial, and Betty can’t help but smile at them. She’s never envied anyone but she _does_ envy the way everything is so effortless for Veronica. She’s often thought about whether their pairing as roommates was an act of fate; whether it’s her chance to take a leaf out of a different book and go after what she wants - take risks and seize each adventure that’s out there like her friend does.

And then she remembers that Veronica’s parents booked a stay in Mexico over Christmas without her, so maybe things aren’t what they seem.

“Betty, you with me?” Jughead asks, and she realises he must’ve said something else because he’s already set the sled down on the snow and is blocking its descent downwards with his foot.

His eyes are back to their soft dark blue, not the hard kind that they’d been back near the rentals hut. “Sorry,” she replies with an apologetic smile. “Guess I zoned out there.”

He shrugs. “You want to hop on? It’s not going to go anywhere.”

She settles herself on the flat bottom and tries not to get anxious over something a four-year-old would have no trouble doing. Jughead’s food keeps the sled in place like he’s said, and when she looks up at his face, she finds him watching her.

“All set?” he asks.

Betty nods once, though it’s only the slightest of movements. It appears to be all Jughead needs because as soon as she does it, he removes his foot, steps to the side and gives her the gentlest of pushes so she’s sliding down the hill.

She reaches the bottom - unharmed - in no more than five seconds and finds that the whole thing wasn’t too bad at all.

“Your turn,” she says, handing him the sled when she reaches him again.

He takes his turn and then tries to run (or semi-jog) back up to her. “Let’s try a little higher.”

She’s about to protest when he adds, “We can ride together.”

They climb another fifty metres or so and then Jughead sets the sled back on the snow, his foot acting as the barrier once more. Archie and Veronica pass them then, holding hands as they ride their respective sleds at an alarming speed and Jughead simply shakes his head. (There’s a knowing grin playing on his lips though, Betty notices)

“Your chariot awaits!” he announces rather grandly, then seems to shrink back in embarrassment. Betty doesn’t fight her own smile, and then takes a seat on the sled. The base of the hill suddenly seems rather far away.

“Jug, it’s kind of -” She stops abruptly when he takes up the spot behind her, hands settling round her waist as his heels dig into the snow to prevent them from moving forward.

“You good?” he asks, breath hot against her ear. Her stomach’s doing that rippling thing again. “Remember, there are no snowmen here,” he adds and it’s just enough to coax a genuine laugh out of her. She figures Jughead must seize his opportunity because at that moment, they begin their descent.

It’s faster than last time - and further too - but he keeps his hands around her waist the entire time; she can feel his chest behind her and actually feels kind of safe.

“Again?” he asks when they reach the bottom.

“Yeah,” she smiles. “Again,”

  
  
  


The latter half of the afternoon is spent lounging around in the lodge’s livingroom, weaving in and out of some movie Jughead has selected on Netflix. Betty isn’t sure how many times she’s drifted off but finds that actually, she doesn’t care: she’s warm and comfortable and pretty content sharing her couch with Veronica, who, for the first time in as long as they’ve been here, isn’t currently flirting with Archie.

Betty thinks it might just be a new tactic.

Once the movie finishes, they decide that her earlier idea of ordering pizza is a good one, and settle on a large pepperoni, margherita with extra cheese, and spicy maple-cured sausage. Archie calls it in and Betty heads to the kitchen to get everything organised. She’s joined by Veronica approximately fifteen minutes after she hears the sound of a video game starting up.

“You and Archie seem to be getting pretty close,” she says, setting four plates on the counter. She doesn’t miss the involuntary smile stretch from Veronica’s lips up to her eyes.

“Don’t you think he’s cute? He’s literally the nicest guy I’ve ever met.”

Betty smiles and Veronica sighs. “I just wish he’s make a move. I appreciate the respect for my boundaries and all,” she continues, waving her hand before grabbing a bottle of cabernet sauvignon from their rapidly dwindling wine collection. Betty’s starting to wonder how her liver would’ve coped had Jughead and Archie not been here. “But I wouldn’t mind being pushed up against one of these cabin walls some time soon.”

“V!” Betty admonishes, though a laugh creeps into the initial of her friend’s name.

“All I’m saying is that I could go for him _dis_ respecting my boundaries a little,” she says as she pulls the cork from the bottle with a raised brow. “Or a lot. And speaking of boundaries, don’t think I haven’t noticed you and Jughead pushing each others.”

“What?!”

That earns her an eyeroll and a pointed stare. “You didn’t want to sleep in comfort because you felt guilty for robbing the guy of a bed - _he_ made you take his bedroom; he didn’t want to go to the spa - _you_ persuaded him to come; you didn’t want to ride the sled all the way down the hill - and yes, I noticed, but I didn’t want to make a big deal of it - but who should I see looking like they were reenacting a Christmas movie? I have to say B, the way he held onto you was super sweet.”

Betty’s almost certain her cheeks are flaming but she refuses to admit anything. Veronica’s not done.

“You can be as coy as you want Betty Cooper, but I know the beginnings of heart eyes when I see them - and it’s not just you.”

Archie and Jughead choose that moment to enter the kitchen, their video game apparently over.

“What were you guys talking about?” Archie asks.

Betty feels her heartbeat speed up and even Veronica nearly spills the wine she’s pouring. They’re saved from answering though, by a knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” Betty says quickly, but Jughead stops her with a gentle hand on her elbow. His voice is soft yet authoritative when he says,

“Let me.”

It makes her stomach flutter unnecessarily pleasantly and she makes a point of not looking at her best friend.

  
  
  


“Never have I ever seen my roommate naked,” Veronica says.

There’s an awkward pause before Archie and Jughead down a shot of tequila each, at which point Veronica laughs and even Betty allows the giggle to bubble out of her lips.

So far, the game has been pretty tame, although Betty knows _exactly_ why they’re all sitting on the floor around the coffee table with the bottle of Jose Cuervo in the centre. She wonders how long it’ll be before Veronica ups her campaign even further. She’s already sitting close enough to Archie for their shoulders to touch, which means that comparatively speaking, she and Jughead are sitting in acres of space.

Betty is currently very _very_ aware of that fact.

Everyone turns to look at her ready to hear her statement. Really, she could pick pretty much anything: as it transpires, there isn’t much she actually _has_ done. “Never have I ever cheated on a test.”

Both Archie and Veronica drink, and she finds Jughead looking rather satisfied. “I just _love_ the thrill of studying,” he drawls sarcastically, but still Betty smiles without meaning to.

“Jug doesn’t need to study,” Archie says with a wince from the burn of the alcohol. “He’s practically a genius.”

Like my girl over there,” Veronica replies, although there’s a pronounced slur to her words now. “Never failed a test in her life.”

They move onto Archie’s next turn: _Never have I ever stolen anything_ . Everyone but him drinks (for the sake of game purposes, Betty figures she might as well count that time when she was eight and stole her mom’s lipstick) She’d like to know more about the specifics of everyone else’s misdemeanors but they’d established the rules before they’d begun and so she keeps quiet. Jughead’s next: _Never have I ever been in love_.  

To Betty’s surprise, nobody drinks but there’s a sudden shift in the air. Veronica seizes her chance, angling her body just a fraction so her chest is facing Archie. She’s wearing only a spaghetti strap cami.

“Never have I ever wanted to kiss someone so badly.”

Betty’s eyes slide to her friend, then quickly to Jughead who’s already looking between her and the door. She nods, he mumbles something about a glass of water and they escape to the kitchen.

  
  
  


Way after midnight, when the snow is driving against the lodge in thick flurries, they talk about what it’s like to be friends with people who give in to what they want.

It’s past two when the couch is free for Jughead to sleep on.


	4. Day Four

Veronica Lodge is not quiet. Jughead knows this despite the fact that he’s spent less than seventy-two hours in her company and Archie’s bedroom is all the way down the hall.

It’s too early to be woken by the sound of his best friend’s name and yet here he is, squinting into the light of the refrigerator on the hunt for something breakfasty that Betty might have made.

His search comes up empty.

He supposes the situation is partly his fault - what with the previous night’s game of Never Have I Ever (he’s actually a little ashamed that he hadn’t completely hated it) but the combination of tension; Archie’s indecisiveness and Veronica’s obvious desperation for Archie to make a move was getting too much. Someone needed to put them out of their misery.

Besides, the time he’d spent with Betty during the couch make-out session, picking at leftover pizza and drinking more coffee than they should’ve for the late hour, hadn’t been entirely unpleasant. She is, he’d decided last night, quite the enigma.

Shutting the refrigerator’s door, he nearly jumps when he turns around to find the blonde herself entering the kitchen with a slight wince on her face. She’s dressed to go outdoors and Jughead frowns. It’s not yet eight and the light outside is still weak and pale.

“They wake you too?” she asks, and he’s surprised to find her voice a little raspy. He’s also surprised to find that his thoughts drift immediately to her lying in bed, that blonde hair fanned out across her pillow and a little pair of pajama shorts and tank top covering her body. It stirs something in his stomach that he’d rather not acknowledge.

“I’m trying not to think about it.”

Betty chuckles and crosses to the refrigerator herself, grabbing one of the bottles of water from the shelf. “Want one?”

“Sure,” he replies, then takes in her outfit again. She’s wearing jeans today, not the ski pants she’d had on for yesterday’s sledding, and he notes silently how fitted they are - clinging to the curve of her ass and thighs in a way that highlights her figure. “You uh…” his own voice is a little hoarse now and so he clears his throat, embarrassed. “You going somewhere?”

“Thought I’d get some air,” she says. “Hike a little way up the mountain and maybe get some pictures before it snows again and the view’s obstructed.”

Jughead nods and takes a seat at the counter.

“Do you want to join me?”

Being awake before eight-thirty when he doesn’t technically have to be is one thing; actually _leaving_ the house is something else. He’s about to say he’ll put the coffee on for when she gets back but then a sound halfway between a bump and a clatter filters through to the kitchen from Archie’s bedroom down the hall and he figures that anywhere other than the lodge is probably a good place to be right now.

“Give me five minutes,” he tells Betty. “I’ll go get dressed.”

“Bring your camera,” she says. “You might get some good shots.”

He turns to look back at her and finds her leaning against the counter, sipping at the water and giving him a soft, gentle smile.

Her eyes remind him of a tropical sea.

  
  
  


“How else do you decide what to shoot?” Betty asks him, watching as he crouches to photograph the way the trees filter tiny shards of light so that the sun looks as though it’s being splintered. She copies what he does, quiet and still as he snaps the picture, lips tugged between her teeth as he takes in the image on the little screen and then shows it to her. She nods and they rise and continue walking.

“Personal preference I guess,” he answers, putting the cap back into place over the lens. “Light and shadows are part of it; so are colours, but above all, I think you just have to like what you’re photographing.”

She’s been asking him questions about his joint favourite hobby - his only other love besides writing - all the way up the mountain and he’s surprised to find that she genuinely seems interested in his answers.

“I need to pay more attention to the first three,” she smiles. “I’m so easily swayed by the subject.”

“The subject’s important; you just have to make sure you frame it right. What do you like?”

She frowns and her nose scrunches a little. Jughead wants to laugh but he stops himself: instinct says she’d feel more self-conscious than she should.

“I mean, when you look around, what grabs your attention? What does your eye see first?”

He watches as she opens her mouth to say something, but then seems to stop herself before any words come out. She’s catching herself, he thinks. But then she stops walking and points to the left, a little way above their heads. “There. The berries.”

“And now look for the framing,” he tells her. “Branches or leaves or… here.” He guides her so they’re just underneath the berries and points upwards. “You can use the sky too if the lens isn’t looking directly into the sun.”

Betty points her little camera upwards and he can already see from the screen that she’s not going to be able to get the kind of picture she wants. “Here,” he says, lifting the camera strap from around his neck so he can set it around hers. “Try with this.”

“Will you show me?” she asks.

Jughead moves so he’s behind her and he can tilt the camera to the angle she needs. His fingers brush hers and he feels them twitch a little: they’re cold without gloves - his are too - but he can feel the warmth radiating off of the rest of her. “So you want to get the focus right. Zooming in can distort the subject so decide if that’s something you want.”

She seems to hesitate so he shows her, curling his right hand around the lens as his left continues to hold the camera in position, thumb resting against the curve of hers. “In focus highlights the berries,” he explains. “Out of focus like this,” he adjusts the lens and closes one eye, “draws the eye to the backdrop.”

“Oh,” she says, and there’s a hint of breathlessness to the syllable that makes his own breathing falter slightly. Her voice is almost a whisper when she says, “I like it like this.”

Jughead swallows and it’s harder than he’d anticipated it would be. “So then you just click.”

Betty does as he says, pressing a couple times so the camera’s tick echoes a little though the trees. He brings it back down and peers over her shoulder as she surveys her work. He can already see her lips curving into a smile.

“It’s actually kind of good,” she says, so genuinely that it makes him want to spend the whole morning just out on the mountainside showing her all the ways in which to spot a good shot. “Thanks Juggie.”

The last thing he’s expecting is the tiny peck on his cheek. Her lips are cold and so is his skin, but the tiny patch where the two meet briefly now feels as though it’s aflame. Jughead feels something prickle and burn all the way up his ears until he’s sure the tips - hidden by his beanie, thankfully - are bright red.

He clears his throat and tries to stop the twitch in his lips. “You’re welcome.”

  
  
  


They lose track of time, their attention focused on the scenery. For Jughead, the scenery seems suddenly to include Betty, and he takes a couple shots of her while she’s unaware: looking out over the resort below; spinning around in the soft, powdery snow with a look of sheer, innocent happiness on her face; shielding her eyes from the sun as she turns towards him to point out the tracks left by a deer.

He’s never been one for photographing people before but of all the pictures he’s taken throughout the morning, the ones of her are his favourites.

They arrive back at the lodge with growling stomachs and the shared hope that both Archie and Veronica will be dressed. As it turns out, they’re rewarded with the sight of both of them cooking breakfast and although the shirt Veronica has on is about ten sizes too large, Jughead is pleased to discovered that it’s paired with leggings.

“Hey guys!” she greets with a wide grin and in such a tone that he’s under no illusion about what it really means: _you two are spending time together_. “Where’ve you been all morning?”

“Avoiding you two,” he replies at the same time as Betty says, “Just out to take a few photos.”

Betty shrugs off her coat and he hangs it for her on a hook in the hallway. On his way back, he hears the brunette say, “You should’ve said: I wouldn’t have tried so hard to be quiet.”

“V!” comes Betty’s semi-appalled shriek, although he can hear the smile in it. When he reaches the kitchen again, he can see his best friend grinning at Veronica like she hung the moon. He just hopes that no-one proposes the hot tub tonight.   

“We were thinking,” Veronica starts, her eyes sliding to Archie with a smile, “that it might be nice to get out of here tonight. Go to a bar maybe.”

It’s pretty much the last thing Jughead wants to do. “What’s wrong with the alcohol we have here?” he asks, then feels very much like a mid-forties mom: _No we can’t go out for dinner; there’s food at home_.

“Nothing’s wrong with it Jug,” Archie shrugs. “But it might be kind of cool to see what the resort centre’s like. They’ve got a band playing at one of the bars.”

“My favourite way to listen to music,” he replies dryly. “Distorted and intermixed with clinking glass and bathroom hand dryers.”

There’s a soft giggle that follows, which he attributes to Betty, and he finds himself wondering whether she shares his views or whether she’s amused at his misfortune.

He hopes it’s the former but concludes that it’s almost certainly the latter.

Archie and Veronica serve breakfast which is nowhere near the level set by the girl he’s spent all morning with, but it’s a valiant effort at scrambled eggs and toast so he shuts up and shovels it in.

After, there’s a strange video game tournament instigated by Betty, won by him, and ended by Veronica who grows bored of trying to help Mario progress through the kingdoms, and decides that kissing Archie is more fun instead. Jughead’s beginning to regret his wingmanship the previous night: perhaps the painful flirting might’ve been better after all.

He makes silent plans to spend the evening alone while the others go to the bar, but then as he’s on his way to the bathroom, he passes by the open door of Betty’s bedroom. Unintentionally, his eyes take in the sight of her getting changed: she’s reaching behind her to zip up the back of her dress and he can make out the dark red - almost plum - lace of her bra. She turns suddenly and unexpectedly and just like that, he’s been caught.

Jughead’s legs don’t appear to be working. He wants to run away and pretend it didn’t happen - that he didn’t just get caught staring at a half-naked Betty Cooper - but he can’t.

His words, when they leave his mouth, are laden with apology. “I...I didn’t mean to - I didn’t see…” he dips his head. “Sorry.”

She smiles shyly. “It’s okay. There’s not much to see anyway.”

He’s not sure if she says that to make him feel better or if she’s being self-deprecating, but either way, it’s so incredibly far from the truth that he practically balks at the notion. “I’m just figuring out what to wear to the bar,” she says. “I didn’t really bring any fancy outfits so this is Veronica’s.” Her smile is edged with something that he can’t quite discern when she says, “She’s a lot smaller than I am.”

Smaller, he registers. _Smaller_ and not _shorter_ , and he realises that there’s a negativity to the way she says it - maybe even a hint of embarrassment.

“You look good.” The words are out of his mouth before he’s even realised that they’ve risen in his throat. “I mean, in that. You look good in that...dress. But you always look good.”

_Shit_. He clamps his mouth closed against the sudden verbal diarrhoea but the damage is done. When he peeks up from under ashamed lashes, Betty’s fighting a smile. “Thanks Juggie.”

There’s that name again. And then, “You’re coming tonight, right?”

It appears, as he realises he’s nodding at her, that he is.

  
  
  


Jughead discovers that he’d been right about the distorted music. Overall, the band isn’t bad and does a pretty good job of covering all the usual songs, but their speakers (or the bar’s speakers, he isn’t entirely sure which) do something to the bass that makes it hum between beats.

Halfway through the set, he’s pretty sure his heart is beating to the rhythm of Chelsea Dagger, and is rather grateful when the lead singer announces they’re taking a half hour break.

A much quieter rendition of Def Leppard’s _Pour Some Sugar On Me_ filters out over a different set of speakers and finally, his heart seems to fall back into rhythm again.

“Pretty sure I’m going to have tinnitus after tonight,” he mutters to Betty.

She turns towards him, swivelling on the bar stool in a move that’s incredibly graceful considering the restrictive nature of the borrowed dress she’s wearing, and then cocks her head slightly to the side, regarding him with an amused smile. “Your ears’ll be just fine,” she says, her fingers landing on his forearm. He tries to quell the rising hairs.

“You say that now,” It’s a struggle to keep the disgruntled tone in his voice and he ends up replying with minimal conviction, “but it’ll be too late when I can’t hear you ask if I can pour you some coffee at breakfast tomorrow morning.”

She rolls her eyes - actually _rolls_ them in front of him! He thinks his own might be sparkling a little with the teasing, and he wants them to stop but has no idea how to make that happen (other than leaving her alone, he realises, and he doesn’t exactly want to do that)

“You’re being dramatic.”

He doesn’t reply, but suddenly understands all of those stories of schoolyard pigtail pulling.

  
  
  


Right before the band starts up again, Betty leans to the side so she can speak into his ear.

“I don’t think Archie and Veronica would notice if we watched from a little further away.”

Jughead looks over towards the small square-shaped space designated for dancing, and sees his best friend with his arms settled upon the brunette’s hips. They’re not currently kissing, but he figures it won’t be long before they are.

“Are you sure? I thought you were set on bursting your eardrums tonight?”

He receives another eyeroll but there’s also her giggle accompanying it - a burst of air that hits his face and fans out across his skin. She smells like the fruit-flavoured cocktail she’s been drinking and he’s surprised to find that he likes it. He’s never really been one for anything sweet before - unless of course, it comes in milkshake form - but as has been the case lately, she’s the exception.

“Before they start playing again,” she urges, securing her dress before slipping off of the bar stool. The action draws his eyes to her thighs, where they spend longer than they should taking in the silhouette of that part of her body.

They take up a spot in the far corner of the room next to the fire exit where there’s a steady stream of cooling air. For him, it’s great not to be too hot and surrounded by other people, but even in the dim lighting he can make out the goosebumps on her arms.

“Here.” Jughead hands her his jacket. “It’ll keep you warm.”

Betty takes it gratefully and pulls it on, the size of it swamping her a little, and yet she still looks incredible, he thinks. Now he understands a little more about the grin Archie used to wear when he gave a girl his letterman jacket to wear.

It’s not like Betty’s _his_ girl - not even close - but if people were to _think_ she might be….well, it’s not like he’d be in any major hurry to correct them.

The band’s set is nearly over when some drunk guy, stumbling and laughing with his friend, almost careers into them. Jughead just about stops Betty from going flying and he’s about to demand an apology on her behalf when the guy looks above their heads, points, and slurs, “Mistletoe dude. You should kiss her.”

Sure enough, when he looks up, he finds that there is indeed a spring of green hanging from the ceiling. It’s a little wilted and sad-looking, but suddenly he’s very aware that his hand is still round Betty’s waist from where he’d caught her. By the time his eyes have slid up to hers, the drunk guy has disappeared in the direction of the bathroom and the only words Jughead can hear - despite the song blasting over the speakers - are _kiss_ and _her_.

His pulse thuds in his ears and he has no idea whether it’s in time to the music or not, but she’s looking at his lips, her tongue darting out to wet her own, and she’s all he can see; all he can smell and feel.

Jughead’s not sure who leans in - maybe it’s both of them - but their lips meet somewhere in the space between them.

She tastes like cherries.  


	5. Day Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy week before Christmas Eve everyone! Thank you all for the love and support you've given this story so far, and to any new readers, welcome aboard the trope train!
> 
> Keep those comments and kudos coming ;)

The air outside of Betty’s bed is cold. She can tell it’s snowed again without peeling back the curtains, and she rolls herself in the duvet to trap in some warm air. They can’t build up the fire enough to last the whole night because the living room gets too hot for Jughead, who’s still sleeping on the couch.

Jughead, she thinks again, sighing internally as she settles upon a mental image of his face, just before he’d leaned in to kiss her beneath the mistletoe. It had been brief - the kiss - brief and sweet but good enough to make her wish it had lasted longer. He’d pulled away with a slight grin on his face which had faltered immediately when he’d opened his eyes.

Things after that had been awkward and they’d gone to bed without spending a couple hours picking at food in the kitchen to avoid the happenings in Veronica’s room as had been custom the past nights. 

Betty can still feel the weight of his hand around her waist where he’d caught her to stop her from falling. She can feel the calluses of his other hand too, a little rough and yet somehow still soft as his thumb had brushed her jaw. He’d tasted like mint and beer - a combination she never could’ve imagined working well, and yet it did. He’d smelled of pine and soap and the jacket he gave her to keep her warm had had a lingering scent of cigarettes. Again, not something she could’ve imagined liking and yet here she is, the mix of it all still lingering pleasantly somehow.

She shivers and figures that although it’s early, she may as well get up. They’re running low on groceries and she’s not sure how long the local store will stay open with it being Christmas Eve. 

Tugging on her sweater over the pajamas she’s wearing, Betty takes a look in the mirror. Her hair’s a little unruly and she pulls it into a tie before teasing out a few strands around her face which bend into their natural waves. She pulls on another pair of socks too, blows into her fingers while rubbing them against each other and checks her appearance again.

Inwardly, she groans: she’s  _ not _ the girl who makes sure she looks okay before a boy she may or may not like sees her in the morning. 

Except, maybe she is.

In the kitchen, the whir of the refrigerator is the only noise filtering into the silence, and Betty takes a minute just to appreciate that before setting up the coffee machine to brew a fresh pot. The scent of ground beans wafts through the air only a few minutes later and she rests against the counter as the brown liquid drips through into the pot.

“No mountain hike this morning?”

His voice makes her jump and she whirls around, ponytail hitting the side of her face. “Sorry,” he adds. “I uh… didn’t mean to make you jump.”

“It’s fine,” she replies a little breathlessly. She hopes it’s only because of the surprise. “You’re up early.”

“So are you.”

“I was cold,” she says, rubbing her hands up her arms as if to prove it. “You want coffee?” She’s already at the machine and pouring him a mug of it before he can even answer. Her fingers are itching to curl inward and she focuses on adding two spoons of sugar to override the nervous tick. 

“Thanks,” Jughead says softly, taking the mug from her outstretched hands. His fingertips brush hers during the exchange and Betty feels her pulse throb a little harder at her neck. She swallows and turns back to the refrigerator.

The scrape of wood on the floor tells her that he’s taken a seat at the counter and she works hard to focus on the items on the shelves: eggs, milk, cheese, some spinach that’s seen better days. 

“What’s on the menu this morning?” Jughead asks. She detects the remnants of sleep there: his words a little deeper and rougher than usual. The timbre makes her think of things she shouldn’t.

“We haven’t got many groceries left.” Her words are a little shaky. “I think I can do an omlette if you like spinach?” 

“I trust it’ll be good if you’re making it.”

Her face flames for no apparent reason and she spends longer than she needs to collecting the ingredients. 

They’re both silent after that. She cooks and he watches while drinking his coffee. When he runs out, he tops his mug up and then adds more liquid to hers too despite the fact that she’s barely touched the first lot. He resumes his seat at the counter and clears his throat.

“Betty, last night -”

“-Morning!” Veronica sing-songs, oblivious about interrupting them. 

“Morning,” Betty answers, both relieved and disappointed that she and Jughead are no longer alone. He’s watching her when she turns around and his gaze is close to suffocating; she almost wishes they hadn’t gone to that bar last night.

“What’s going on in here?” Veronica asks, her eyes narrowed into interrogative slits of almost-black. 

“I’m making breakfast,” she replies, then quickly tags on, “Where’s Archie?”

“Oh,” Veronica responds, rolling her eyes. “Still in bed pretending not to be hungover.”

Jughead chuckles a little and Betty finds the corners of her own mouth creeping up into something like a smile.

“No photos this morning?” she asks, reaching into the cabinet to grab a mug for coffee. 

“We didn’t need to,” Jughead replies. “There was nothing to drown out this morning.”

Betty  _ does _ allow herself to grin at that, and when she looks round at her best friend, she finds a smile playing on her lips too. “Sadly,” she sighs faux-dramatically, and Jughead groans with his hands over his ears, mumbling, 

“Maybe tinnitus would’ve been a blessing in disguise.” 

Betty serves him his omelette first, her heart thumping when his voice is low and soft to say, “Thanks Betts.” She nods at him in response and then focuses on Veronica’s egg-white only version. The fact that she always has a little cheese in it is such a contradiction that Betty can’t help but smile fondly.

“So are we still heading into town later for some groceries?” Veronica asks as she takes up the seat beside Jughead.

“Yeah - we’re pretty low on everything. Plus I need to get the ingredients for tomorrow’s apple pie.”

“There’ll be pie?” Jughead asks, his mouth full of omelette. 

“The  _ best _ pie,” Veronica replies. “Betty is literally a younger, hotter, less-of-a-criminal Martha Stewart.”

At that point, Betty’s eyes slide to Jughead and she finds he’s already looking at her. He holds her gaze when he says, “Absolutely.”

She dips her head, cheeks and ears flaming, and turns back to the oven to serve Veronica her breakfast.

It’s late in the morning when Archie surfaces, hands raking through his red hair which is sticking up on end in a way Betty can’t help but smile at. His eyes are halfway closed in that bleary way that signals a headache and even Jughead whistles. “Well you look like shit.”

“Jug!” Betty reprimands, getting up to fix him a mug of coffee. He’s grinning when she turns back around and as is so often the case lately, she finds her own face mirroring his. Her smile slides when she thinks about the previous night.

“Why did I think that amount of alcohol was a good idea?” Archie mutters, sinking into the seat beside Veronica. 

“Have you finally accepted your hangover?” she croons, looping her arms around his neck to give him a kiss on the cheek.

It must be nice, Betty thinks, to be able to display your feelings so easily. She wonders what’s wrong with her, and then decided it’s probably best not to even open  _ that _ particular can of worms.

“I’m fine,” Archie replies gruffly, to which the brunette pulls back. 

“So you  _ don’t _ require a day of hungover spooning?”

A single red eyebrow lifts and out of the corner of her eye, Betty sees Jughead roll his. 

“That…” Archie sighs. “I guess that might help.”

“I thought we were grocery shopping?” Betty says.

Veronica shrugs. “Archiekins needs nursing back to health; Jughead can go with you.”

“I won’t know which wine to pick,” she replies feebly, as though it’s a legitimate excuse for needing her best friend to come. 

“Just ask the clerk. Or pick the most expensive one - whatever.” Her arms are back around Archie’s neck, finger tips stroking the side of his face and Betty already knows it’ll be futile to try and change this outcome.

“I’ll come with you,” Jughead says. “If you let me push the cart.”

She shakes her head with a small smile and feels a tiny bloom of hope in her chest. “Deal.”

  
  
  
  


When Betty makes it outside, she finds Veronica’s Lexus has already been cleared of snow. Standing beside the car with his jacket sleeve covered  _ with _ some of the said snow, is Jughead. His crown beanie is covering his hair as usual and she figures he must’ve been outside for a good ten minutes because his nose is red from the cold. 

“You sure driving to town is a good idea?” he asks as she approaches both him and the car, Veronica’s keys dangling from her hand. “Not that I think your driving skills aren’t up to it,” he adds, somewhat apologetically. “I just meant -”

“-We’ll be fine,” she cuts in. “I drive in snow all the time at home when it’s winter.”

“Right,” he replies with a nod. “Sorry.”

Betty unlocks the car and they both get in, the leather seats freezing beneath them.  

“Jesus it’s cold,” he says, blowing into his fingers.

“You should wear gloves.”

“They don’t fit my aesthetic.”

“And what aesthetic is that?” Betty asks, pressing the button which starts the engine - and, consequently, the heater controls.

“You mean, you can’t tell?”

She puts the car into reverse and eases her foot onto the pedal. They move backwards without skidding. “Brooding intellectual with a soft underbelly?” she asks. From the corner of her eye - just as she’s sliding the car into drive - she catches his lips quirk into a smirk which he then suppresses. 

“Not exactly.”

Betty pulls out of the lodge’s driveway and onto the main road running past. “You gave me your jacket when you saw I was cold last night.” she says gently. “Gloves won’t harm your image.”

He makes a noise that sounds something like reluctant agreement, but there’s a tiny smile on his lips so she says nothing more. 

Betty expects him to bring up the kiss - it had seemed he was about to at breakfast before they were interrupted by Veronica - but the rest of the journey to the store passes in quiet. She almost slips on some ice in the parking lot, but he’s by her side quick enough to prevent her from falling flat on her face and she smiles at him gratefully.

“Thanks Juggie.”

He removes his hand from her waist much quicker than he had at the bar last night, but rather than stuff his hands into his pockets, he keeps on of them at the small of her back, partly guiding her into the safety of the store. 

She misses the feel of him when he drops it once they’re inside.

As it turns out, he’s not the most helpful of shopping partners. Betty had thought, during her many trips to Whole Foods with Veronica, that her best friend was a rather disorganised and impulsive shopper - surprising considering she spends most of her free time doing just that. But Jughead Jones is on an entirely different level. In fact, he’s so impulsive that she’s beginning to wonder whether he’s ever shopped in a grocery store in his life.

“We should definitely get both,” he says when Betty picks up two different brands of pie filling.

“We don’t need both.”

“We could have two pies.”

“After a big dinner, you seriously think we can get through _ two _ apple pies?”

His face is absolutely serious when he replies, “Definitely.”

She sighs with exasperation but adds both cans to the shopping cart anyway, unable not to reciprocate the satisfied grin he gives her in response. 

In the refrigerator section, things don’t improve. She can make her own pie crust but when it comes to the sugar cookies both she and Veronica consume far too often, nothing beats the ready-made dough. 

“Snowmen or Christmas trees?” she makes the mistake of asking Jughead.

“Both,” he replies. “And the reindeer ones too.”

“I’m going to be the size of a house if we buy all three,” she half-laughs. It’s an off-hand comment, meant as a joke but suddenly, his face is serious.

“You know you’re not fat, right?”

“I -”

“- You said something yesterday, when you were trying on Veronica’s dress and look, I know my opinion doesn’t count for much, but believe me when I tell you, you’re perfect.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that. Her mouth opens but no sound comes out - she’s not even sure if there’s any air in her lungs to expel in coherent syllables - but suddenly, Jughead’s talking again.

“I mean...it’s not like I’ve been looking, but also I haven’t  _ not _ looked, and….  _ Shit _ .” He scratches at his neck nervously. “Now I sound like a creep.”

All three types of cookie dough make it into the cart and Betty’s voice is a little shaky when she says, “You don’t.”

They say nothing else, but when they make it to the next aisle, she brushes her fingertips against his. He catches them and squeezes back.

  
  
  
  


Betty’s somewhat surprised to find both Archie and Veronica dressed when they return to the lodge. The guys insist that they carry in the bags and so she and Veronica work together to put the items away. 

“ _ Three _ types of cookie dough?” Veronica questions, holding them up before shoving them a little roughly onto the shelf in the refrigerator.

“We couldn’t decide,” Betty replies, and continues emptying the bag in front of her. Her friend shrugs and says no more about it, and within ten minutes, all groceries have been put away.

“Feeling better Arch?” she asks as he opens a bag of chips they’d just bought. 

“Yep. Currently at the eating-everything-in-sight stage,” he replies, stuffing a handful of chips into his mouth and spraying  a few crumbs. “Good thing you guys went shopping.”

“We were thinking,” Veronica begins, speaking in a tone that tells Betty that actually,  _ she’s  _ been thinking. “We should get some fresh air. Maybe go for a walk before it gets dark?”

“I just walked all over a grocery store,” Jughead half-whines. 

“Please,” Veronica rolls her eyes. “You were with Betty. It was hardly torture for you.”

Betty herself feels her face flame again and stays quiet. Jughead does the same. 

“You could bring your camera?” Archie suggests, oblivious. “Take a couple photos?”

She’s not entirely sure either of them agree to the walk, but after banking up the fire to prevent it from going out, they’re all walking up the mountainside so Betty figures they never disagreed either.

  
  
  
  
  


“Hey B,” Veronica whispers, nudging her. She registers the snowball in her friend’s hand and the mischievous glint in her eye. Veronica nods at Archie and Jughead - both of whom have their backs to the girls - and then glances down at the snow: code for  _ let’s get them _ .

Betty forms the snow into a neat ball and they creep a little closer to the guys without alerting them to their presence. The brunette makes a number three sign with her fingers and begins a silent countdown. Both snowballs smack into Archie and Jughead’s necks respectively, and Veronica claps her hands in glee.

This does, of course, result in an all out snowball war. 

Five minutes in, Betty has lost all sense of direction and is pretty much just throwing snowballs as fast as she can make them. Veronica appears to be skipping the stage of actually f _ orming _ the snowball, and is simply hurling powdery snow at anyone who comes close enough. 

Unsurprisingly, Archie has tremendous aim and has smacked Betty more times than she can count. She’s bending down to sculpt her next ball of ammunition when a snowball flies into the top of her back, knocking her off balance so she falls face-first into the snow.

“Jughead!” Veronica shrieks as Betty’s righting herself again, blowing the snow off of her lips and nose. Although her face was cold before, it now feels numb. There’s snow all in her lashes and she bets that her mascara is making her resemble a panda right now. 

“Shit! Sorry Betty!” he apologises, helping her up with that arm around her waist again.

“It’s okay,” she replies honestly, but she’s gotten snow all down her sweater and her teeth chatter involuntarily. Over his shoulder, she spies Veronica packing together a large snowball which she carries over and stuffs down the back of Jughead’s jacket before he can realise she’s there. 

It transpires that actually, he’s quite the squealer.

They make the decision to head back to the lodge no more than ten minutes later after everyone is cold, wet and in desperate need of a change of clothes. Betty shivers violently as Jughead unlocks the door, and is incredibly grateful for the warmth of their vacation rental as she steps inside.

“You girls take the showers,” Archie says rather charitably. “We’ll wait by the fire.”

“Or,” Veronica lifts an eyebrow, “You could join me?”

Not needing to be asked twice, Archie grins and follows her in the direction of the boys’ bathroom. Betty suddenly feels incredibly awkward. There’s no way she can invite Jughead to share her shower, although now that the image is in her head, she’s already a lot warmer than she had been.

As if sensing her anxiety, he offers a smile. “I’ll get warm here. Let’s hope the water’s loud enough to drown out those two.”

A small, soft chuckle escapes from her lips and she has the urge to press them to his cheek. “I’ll be quick,” she says instead.

He just shrugs with a softness in his eyes that she hasn’t often seen. “Take your time.”

Betty closes her eyes at the feel of the warm water raining over her skin. She lathers her hair with shampoo, leaves it on and washes the shower gel off of the rest of her body before returning to the vanilla-scented suds on the top of her head. She’s in and out again within five minutes, conscious of the fact that Jughead is downstairs, cold and wet and in need of her shower.

The air in the bathroom is warm as she wraps a towel around herself, giving her hair the same treatment before towelling it off so it’s surrounding her shoulders in damp waves. The mirror has steamed up so, in a rebellion against Alice Cooper, she wipes her palm flat against the surface and checks that the remnants of her mascara have been removed. Satisfied that they have, she secures the towel around herself more tightly and leaves the bathroom so that Jughead doesn’t have to wait to get out of his cold, wet clothes any longer. 

“Jug,” she calls down the stairs. “Bathroom’s free.”

When he doesn’t appear after a minute or so, she calls him again, then realises she can hear the sound of a movie playing quite loudly. Perhaps he’s taking precautionary measures against Archie and Veronica, she thinks.

He looks a little startled when she rounds the doorway. 

“Bathroom’s free,” she says in reply to his unanswered question. 

“Oh.” Betty watches his adam’s apple sink and then bob back up again as his eyes take in her towel. She senses herself grow hot under his gaze but he’s still raking his eyes over her and, in a strange sort of way, it feels kind of powerful. “Right,” he says, shaking his head a little as if reminding his brain to focus. 

“There are dry towels on the rack.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs, and follows her out of the living room and up the stairs. With each step, she can feel his eyes on her and it gets harder to make her breaths leave her mouth in even bursts. It’s not like she’s never experienced lust before but this almost painful control is brand new. At the door of her bedroom, she pauses and Jughead stills too.

“I forgot my shower gel,” he says. “You mind if I use yours?”

“Go ahead,” Betty replies. “It’s on the shelf by the tub.” 

He nods and lingers just a fraction longer than he needs to. “Thanks.”

She leaves her door open just enough that if he’s walking past later and happens to look, she might see.

While Jughead’s in the shower, Betty dries herself off and redresses in a simple skirt and tights. She puts in a little extra effort when it comes to selecting the blouse to pair with them, making sure to pick one that will show off just enough of her skin to give the illusion that there might be something underneath worth seeing. 

Her stomach is a mix of excitement swirling with anxiety - a cocktail that both pulls her fingers towards her palms and straightens them out again. She’s strong and aware enough to notice the potential there, and reminds herself not to have any alcohol later in the evening. Besides, the way Archie’s been feeling, she figures it’ll be a hot chocolate kind of night anyway. 

Just as she’s reaching for her mascara, she looks up and catches the reflection of Jughead who’s walking past the open door. He stops and their eyes meet in the mirror; he’s wearing only the towel wrapped around his waist and this time, it’s Betty’s turn to visibly swallow. She’s seen him in his swimsuit at both the spa and in their lodge’s hot tub - and she’s also seen him sans beanie - but something’s different this time. 

Something’s shifted.

They’re still looking at one another when Jughead says, “Thanks for the shower gel.”

Her voice is stilted when she replies. “You’re welcome.”

By the time she makes it back downstairs, Veronica and Archie are snuggled up on one of the couches in the living room and Jughead is occupying the other. She has no choice but to join him when Veronica cranes her neck to explain,

“We’re watching The Holiday.”

Betty’s under no illusions as to who’s picked the movie, but she doesn’t have any complaints: it’s one of her favourites. There’s a blanket seated over Jughead’s knees despite the fire’s warming flames, but she accepts it when he offers half her way. She hadn’t realised how short her skirt was until she it’s ridden halfway up her thighs. 

“You ready?” he asks her, left arm brushing against her right one.

“Yeah,” she nods, although feels anything but. 

  
  
  
  


They’re part-way through the movie when she feels Jughead’s fingers brush her knee. She assumes he hadn’t meant to touch her but then they do it again, tracing light circles, and she realises it’s intentional. She hears her own breath catch, hopes he doesn’t, and keeps her eyes focused on the television screen until the scene where Cameron Diaz is buying everything in the grocery store and she can no longer control herself.

When her eyes slide to Jughead, they take in his jaw: the way it tightens and clenches involuntarily, and then she realises that he hasn’t put the beanie back on his head. She fights the urge to reach up and run her fingers through the dark waves of his hair, and only barely succeeds. He catches her then, his eyes searching her own for something which makes it suddenly very hard to swallow. Quickly, they flit to Archie and Veronica who are pressed so tightly together that there’s barely any air between them, and then back again.

He removes his fingers from her knee and Betty’s surprised by how disappointed she is, but then he shifts so his arm now settles round her waist, right where the band of her skirt meets her blouse. His fingers dip just a little below the material and rest against her skin. She allows herself to turn into him, shuffling a little closer so that they’re kind of lying down and her palm can lay against his chest. Jughead’s right hand toys with her fingers, and she breathes out as evenly as she can. 

By the end of the movie, his fingers have left her waist and are drawing indistinguishable patterns on her thigh, and Betty feels very aware of the fact she’d like them to go higher.

It’s bordering on the verge of torture and she needs to remove herself from the situation.  “Anyone for hot chocolate?” she asks, peeling back the blanket at the same time she extracts herself from Jughead’s hold so that he’s forced to let go before either Archie or Veronica see.

“Perfect,” Veronica mumbles sleepily, tapping her fingers lightly against Archie’s chest to wake him up. “Betty’s making hot chocolate,” she tells him. “Want some?”

“Thanks Betts,” he replies, very close to falling back to sleep again.

She’s just poured the milk into the saucepan and set it to boil when Jughead enters the kitchen. The air is instantly smothering and her breaths as he approaches - eyes trained on her face the entire time - are laboured and tight. She opens her mouth although she’s not sure what it is she intends to say, and then suddenly, he’s in front of her, gaze sweeping from her eyes to her lips where it remains.

“Jug -” she starts, but whatever her words were die on her tongue as he all but crushes his mouth against hers. 

She backs into something hard - the counter maybe, or the refrigerator - but all it does is provide leverage as he frames her jaw with his hands. His lips are insistent, coaxing her mouth open wider until he can slip his tongue inside. 

She’s gone at the slightly needy whimper that tumbles from his mouth into her own. 


	6. Day Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you So MUCH for all of the love this story has gotten so far x

Jughead wakes up, not with his face smushed against the back of the couch, but to the scent of clean laundry, sugar cookies and Betty Cooper. With his eyes only barely open, he can tell that it’s still relatively early morning (in the sense that the moonlight is what’s helping him make out the shapes of the set of drawers and the lamp beside the bed) and he can also tell that the girl his arm is wrapped around is still asleep.

Her chest rises and falls rhythmically, gentle little exhales sounding out through the quiet of the room, and he’s almost reluctant to close his eyes again in case the next time he opens them, he’ll realise this was all just a dream.

If it is, he thinks, it’s been a pretty awesome one. Although, if this _is_ a dream, then the events the previous night leading up to their current bed-sharing must have been too - and he really _really_ hopes that’s not the case.

He’d initially been reluctant to watch Veronica’s movie suggestion: he’d never seen _The Holiday_ but he’d figured that pretty much anything starring both Cameron Diaz and Jack Black, and billed as a rom-com, was never going to be good. It’s not like it’s going down as his favourite ever Christmas movie, but it’s also not his worst either. So, in the end, it had joined the small (but slowly growing) list of Veronica’s not-so-terrible ideas, filed away next to the grocery store and the group sledding trip.

Accidentally stumbling upon Betty trying on her dress had been one thing; the sight of her in nothing but a towel however, had been another. The image had stayed with him whilst he’d showered and had lingered throughout the film, heightened when the blanket had slipped part-way down their knees and he’d noticed how far her skirt had ridden up her thighs. And then she’d laid her hand on his chest.

Jughead had heard her breath catch when his fingers had begun circling against her skin: it had been involuntary at first - an almost pavlovian response to having her so close - but when he’d realised what had been happening and she hadn’t given any indication she’d wanted him to stop, he’d continued.

Somehow, his mind had shut off from the dinner hosted by Kate Winslet’s character (he can’t remember her name, but he _does_ remember the pasta she’d served) and had begun a montage of Betty: the way she’d swum so gracefully in the pool at the spa; the swimsuit she’d worn in the hot tub later that evening; dressed in the grey Columbia sweater making breakfast; the happiness in her eyes when he’d snapped a photograph of her in the snow; her fingers zipping up Veronica’s dress with her back to him; how she’d looked wearing his jacket at the bar; her face when he’d pulled away from their kiss - eyes still closed and lips parted like she’d have welcomed his mouth against hers again; her eyelashes dusted with powdery snow where she’d fallen at the hands of his snowball; the droplet of water that had dripped from her hair and slowly travelled down her chest until it had disappeared beneath the towel and only his imagination could tell him where it would have travelled to next; the way she’d watched him in the mirror - visibly gulping when her eyes had travelled the length of his abdomen and reached a stop on the knot of the towel at his hip.

Having her so close to him as he’d replayed the images on a loop had been torture - not because he’d been uncomfortable at their proximity, but because he hadn’t been able to do anything about it with Archie and Veronica there.

She’d jumped up to make hot chocolate for everybody and he’d been unable not to follow her.

Jughead remembers leaving the living room, remembers entering the kitchen and seeing her pour the milk into the saucepan on the stove, remembers seeing her turn around once she’d sensed his presence, too. He’s certain there must be other details, like who crossed the room first and whose hands made it to the other’s neck, but none of them stick in his mind.

All he can remember after that is the feel of her lips against his; the way she’d tasted and smelled and felt against him. Oh - and the noises she’d made.

Just for pure indulgence, he’s about to go through a play-by-play of those too (it’s Christmas after all) but Betty shifts against him, twisting and burying her face into the pillow with a tiny mumble that he finds alarmingly cute. His arm is still draped over her and rather than turning away from him so she can lie on her back, she twists in a clockwise direction and remains on her side, but the opposite one to how she’d slept. Jughead can just about make out the way her lips curve into a smile before her nose twitches and she whispers,

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” he says back, unable to work out if he’s allowed to kiss her like he wants to. He had last night, but he’d been high on the fact she’d actually sought him out - had tiptoed into the living room in a t-shirt and plaid pajama shorts having already been in bed - to say that if he wanted a break from the couch, he was welcome to join her.

“To sleep,” she’d added somewhat nervously. “I’m still….I haven’t uh -”

And he’d cut her off at that point, figuring that if she was anxious about any of it, he was probably best where he was.

“Thanks Betts,” he’d said softly. “But don’t worry - the couch is fine.”

Her reply had been a little clipped - nothing displaying outright disappointment or annoyance, but her tone had been edged with just a little something that conveyed he might’ve given the wrong answer. But she’d whispered her “Goodnight,” and left him to it.

But then - _then_ \- he’d lain awake in actual physical pain thinking about her lying in bed above him, and he’d been insistent that he wouldn’t get up from that couch; that he didn’t need to creep upstairs and slide in beside her. His legs and brain must not’ve been in cahoots though, but the next thing he’d known, he’d met her right outside the door of her room Jonathan-and-Nancy-style, and their lips had melded before either of them had spoken.

“What’re you thinking about?” Betty asks, her voice still laced with sleep. He loves how it sounds.

“Last night.”

Her lips curve further upward and Jughead senses rather than sees the brightness in her eyes. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a log,” he admits. “This bed definitely beats the couch.”

“And to think, you almost passed it up.”

She’s significantly less guarded than he’d imagined she’d be, and so he chances his luck, letting his fingers wander slowly across the small gap between their bodies until they reach her hip. Her t-shirt has ridden up a little, exposing a small strip of skin just above the waistband of her shorts and he wants to do more than just graze it with his fingers.

“That would’ve been a big mistake,” he replies, feeling rather self-conscious about his hand when her eyes flick down to where it currently rests. He stills his movements and when her eyes drag back up to his, he swallows. “Is this...is it okay?”

“It’s okay.” Her words are a little shaky though, and he’s not entirely sure he believes her. That is, until she says, “I was hoping you’d kiss me.”

So he does.

Her lips are softer than he remembers last night, moving gently against his as he shifts first so he can cup her jaw with his left hand, then so that he’s close enough that when they pull away for air, it’s barely even a second until they’re kissing again.

The second time their lips meet this morning (their third in twenty-four hours; fourth in total - Jughead’s not even going to deny that he’s counting) the press of hers is harder. More urgent. This time, it’s _Betty’s_ tongue that pushes into _his_ mouth, and he feels the vibration of her soft moan all the way down to his toes.

When they break again for air, their foreheads remain touching - like it’s too much to allow even a millimeter of space between them - and his eyes focus on her neck; on the completely unblemished expanse of porcelain skin that he’s suddenly desperate to suck.

Betty tilts her chin and the angle is perfect, so he does just that.

Her breath leaves her in a hot, hard rush; is then shallow and a little uneven when she tries to pull in more oxygen as he laves the spot with his tongue and then grazes his teeth lightly over the same patch. He can feel her pulse beneath his lips; can feel that it’s throbbing rapidly and it sends a thrill through him - that _he’s_ been the one to do that.

“Jug,” she whispers breathlessly, and he drags his lips away so he can read her expression in the silvery light of early morning. He’s never before experienced his name being used as a synonym for _keep going_ , but as has been the case with most things this vacation (especially those relating to her) it’s a new and not entirely unwelcome feeling.

He sucks on her pulse point for a few seconds, not exactly gently, but not quite hard enough to leave a mark: Veronica and Archie might not’ve noticed their kitchen makeout session last night, but they’re almost certain to notice a purple mouth-shaped bruise on Betty’s otherwise porcelain skin.

Jughead grazes the area with his teeth again which elicits a gasp from her mouth. He can’t help but grin at that, but his lips curve upwards only momentarily. After that, it’s all serious.

He leaves a trail of kisses from the underside of her jaw below her left ear to the same place on the right side, then travels back across her skin until he’s working down the column of her neck to her collarbone. Buoyed by her shallow breaths, he licks with his tongue and receives a whimper for his efforts, but his descent south is halted by the fabric of her t-shirt. Rejoining their lips, he shifts so that he’s hovering over her, weight supported by his forearms as he slides his tongue into her mouth.

Kissing Betty Cooper is like nothing on earth, Jughead decides.

His right hand begins a journey from her jawline to her hip, brushing against her breast before taking in the neat curve of her waist where it rests momentarily before reaching a stop at the strip of skin left exposed by the t-shirt she’s wearing. Within seconds, his fingertips are dipping under the waistband of her pajama shorts and when she shifts beneath him, arching her body into his touch, he thinks this probably makes up for all those shitty Christmases when he was younger.

_She’s_ his gift.

Jughead lets his hand travel closer to her centre and when she doesn’t make any move to pull away, he strokes his thumb lightly over her clit.

Her lips go slack and she stops kissing him. “God,” she breathes. “I…”

He does it again, testing her reaction as he lifts his head just enough to be able to see that her eyes are almost closed. “Jug,” she gasps. “I haven’t...I’m a….”

He pulls back, taking his hand out of her shorts and she almost whimpers. But her eyes are open now and even in the weak light he can see that her cheeks are pink. “I haven’t done this before.”

It’s a first for him too - a holiday romance (if this can even be called that - although, he thinks, it’s not exactly like they’re just fucking. Or _about to be_ fucking) and he doesn’t make a habit of falling into bed with girls he’s only recently met either.

Betty’s voice is timid in the stillness of the room. “I haven’t done it _ever_.”

And then the realisation of what she’s trying to say hits him. She’s a virgin.

“Shit!” he mutters, withdrawing his hand before watching her face crumple. “Wait, no - I didn’t mean...I just wouldn’t have pushed,” he explains. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t push,” she whispers. “I liked it, just...I haven’t done it before. I wanted you to know that so you don’t...” she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. “So you’re not disappointed, I guess.”

“Betty,” he sighs, framing her face with his hands. “We don’t have to do anything. We can just kiss. Trust me: that’s not a disappointment.”

When he hears his own words, he expects to cringe at how coming-of-age movie they sound, and yet he doesn’t. He genuinely means them and he wants her to know that. Her eyes are round and watery when she meets his gaze, but their lids flutter closed again when he dips his head to kiss her.

Their lips work in tandem: a slow press, a lazy stroke of the tongue, more pressure and then a gentle nibble which makes her groan quietly into his mouth. She breaks this kiss at that point, arms folded across her chest as she tugs up the t-shirt she’s wearing.

“Hey,” he says gently. “You don’t have to -”

“- I want to. Just, let me know if-”

“- Okay,” he whispers against her lips, not wanting her to have to finish that sentence. He’s already decided he’s not going to have sex with her - not right now anyway - but he wants her to know how good it the _other stuff_ can feel.

He kisses her once more before helping her tug the t-shirt over her head, taking it from her hand so he can drop it to the floor beside the bed. After that, all he can do for a moment is look at her.

Her chest is rising more quickly than normal - a mix of excitement and apprehension, he figures - and she’s stunning.

“You’re beautiful Betts,” he says, and then leans down to kiss his way from her lips to the valley between her breasts, all the way to her stomach where he stops at the waistband of her pajama shorts. Glancing at her face, he checks she’s okay before sucking back at that spot on her neck while taking her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Jughead hears Betty’s sharp intake of breath, feels her hand fist in his hair, and grins against her skin.

He grows bolder, desperate to hear what other sounds she might make, and journeys south again - this time with his tongue stroking the skin of her breast until she’s arching back into him and her breaths are more pants than simple exhales. They become even more ragged when he swirls his tongue around her nipple and lets his hands travel from the backs of her thighs around so they can hook in the material of her shorts.

“Can I?” he breaks away from her skin to ask.

Her “Yes,” is breathless.

She’s wet when he runs his fingers across her entrance, but he’s not about to go too far too fast. A needy little gasp fills the air but Jughead takes his thumb across her clit and it morphs into a much deeper moan. He seals his mouth back over hers and circles that tiny little button, skimming occasionally so that the noise she makes isn’t of pleasure, but of desperate need.

He doesn’t have to ask if she’s okay.

Working her clit with his thumb, he trails his fingers back to her entrance, unable to stop himself grinning when he finds her wetter than before. Gently, he pushes his middle finger inside of her and her hips leave the mattress, hands flying to his forearm. He stills his movements immediately.

“Too much?” he asks, but Betty shakes her head desperately.

“So good,” she gasps.

He rests his forehead momentarily against her chest, presses a single kiss against her skin, then resumes work with his fingers.

She comes apart beneath him in less than five minutes.

“That was…” she she breathes, chest still heaving a short while later, “pretty amazing. Thank you.”

He wants to laugh at the way she feels the need to use her manners even now, but he holds it in and settles instead for pulling her against him. He’s careful not to let her feel his arousal - doesn’t want her to feel like she has to reciprocate in any way - and angles the lower half of his body away from hers. He kisses her forehead and wonders quite how a girl like Betty has never done that before. Jughead figures it must be a personal choice thing - there’s no way she won’t have guys queuing up to date her - and he’s not entirely sure how to feel about the fact that it’s _him_ who’s been the first person in her life to touch her like _that_.

  
  
  


Jughead’s just set the coffee machine to work when Archie shuffles blearily into the kitchen, followed by a much brighter-looking Veronica.

“Merry Christmas!” she exclaims, her expression turning to one of confusion when she realises it’s him behind the counter and not Betty. “Where’s my girl?”

“Shower,” he replies, and realises too late that his response might’ve come a little quickly. Veronica’s eyes narrow at him but she says nothing, just pulls open the refrigerator door and locates the orange juice he and Betty had picked up in the store the day before.

Only a few minutes later, he hears the sound of footsteps in the hallway, and looks up to see Betty heading their way. She gives him a shy smile upon entering the kitchen that he can’t help but return (only, he thinks his might actually be a full-on grin).

“What was that?” Veronica asks as she takes a seat at the counter.

“What?”

“That look you just gave each other.”

“We didn’t…” Betty begins but is cut off by Veronica’s shriek.

“Oh my God! You two had sex!”

He sees her face pale and the fight she has to arrange her features into what she probably hopes is a neutral expression. “No we haven’t!” It’s not a lie - they haven’t had sex (at least, not in the penetrative sense) but the way the words leave her mouth makes it pretty obvious that they’ve come close.

“Are you _blushing_ Jones?” Veronica quips, her left eyebrow raised and her dark eyes sparkling.

“No,” comes Jughead’s muttered response. He busies himself again at the coffee machine despite already having a full cup when he catches sight of the brunette widening her eyes at Betty in a gesture that no doubt means _you’re going to tell me everything later_.

“So when are we having dinner?” Archie asks, changing the subject which Jughead’s extremely grateful for. He sees Betty’s facial muscles loosen, feels the knot he hadn’t realised was in his own chest unravel a little too, and sinks back against the counter.

“Maybe about four? Everything should be ready by then.”

“You need any help?” Archie questions. “I might not know the difference between a sweet potato and a yam but I helped make cranberry sauce every year when my parents were together.

Jughead sees Veronica slide her hand so her fingers cover his and assumes that they’ve already had some sort of conversation regarding their families. The thought makes him wonder whether he and Betty should do the same.

“We bought a jar of cranberry sauce from the grocery store,” she tells him gently, and he bets she’s feeling a little guilty at that. “But you could help peel the potatoes?”

“Count me in,” Archie says, and Jughead notes the gentle squeeze of Veronica’s fingers in his.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Jughead hasn’t had many good Christmases. When he was a kid (at least before his mom left with his sister) they mainly involved yelling, the sounds of bottles smashing and the smell of something burning in the oven. There was always presents - just a handful each for him and Jellybean (but a handful had always been enough; had, in fact, seemed miraculous at the time) but those gifts of a notepad and colouring pens, new scarf and a ball he never wanted to go out into the neighbourhood to throw for fear of one of the gangs taking it, didn’t take away the fact that he’d be telling his little sister stories to keep her entertained while their parents fought in the kitchen.

He knows Christmases for Archie had been different: a big tree in the living room and piles of presents for his parents’ only child: the kind of gifts kids got in movies like a new bike and a guitar and - one year - a puppy he’d named Vegas. There was a dinner cooked by his mom featuring a turkey with all the trimmings that his dad would carve, the homemade cranberry sauce he got to help make, the roasted vegetables and gravy served in an expensive white jug given as a wedding gift.

This year though, Archie’s parents had split up, his mom moving to Chicago and his dad remaining in New York, and even though the’d barely discussed it, the reason they’re here is because Archie hadn’t wanted to choose who to spend the day with.

Jughead had never been given the choice: it was his dad - sole option - until suddenly, there was the prospect of a week away from everyone and everything. A week away from Christmas with it’s obnoxious red and pointless extravagance.

And now, here they both are, seated around the lodge’s table with more food than even _he_ knows what to do with, looking like a freaking holiday card. When Jughead looks over at Betty though, he can’t help but smile.

She’s setting plates in front of them all, making sure they know it’s fine to help themselves, telling Archie that the cranberry sauce looks great even though all he did was spoon it from the jar into the little white serving dish she’d found in the cabinet. When she reaches him, he takes the plate from her hands and she blushes, just like she’s done every time they’ve made eye contact today, and he settles his hand lightly on her wrist, lowering his voice so only they can hear while Archie and Veronica are busy pouring wine.

“This is amazing Betty. Thank you.”

She smiles, a little embarrassed and tells him, “You haven’t tasted it yet.”

He knows she means it as a joke but he can’t let her brush off what she’s done today - cooking this for them all when the reason she’s here is to escape too. He brushes the underside of her wrist with his thumb and her eyes are soft when she smiles. He doesn’t have to say anything else.

“Thanks Juggie,” she whispers, then takes her seat.

  
  
  


They get ready for bed after the exchange of gifts. For Jughead and Archie, avoiding Christmas had meant exactly that. The girls however, had both brought expertly-wrapped boxes containing a monogrammed leather notebook (Veronica to Betty) and a pair of tiny ‘V’ shaped earrings (Betty to Veronica).

He’s setting the pillows on the couch when Betty appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her blonde hair down around her shoulders and a different set of pajamas from this morning.

“I thought you might want to share the bed again,” she says, a blush creeping across her cheeks. “I mean, only if you want to.”

He suddenly has an overwhelming urge to build a suit of armour around her so she’s always protected from whatever it is that’s made her so anxious. He crosses to where she’s standing, frames her face with his palms and presses a kiss to her lips. “Of course I want to.”

Her lips curve into a smile and Jughead feels his heart beat a little quicker.

They head upstairs, hands entwined, and he lets her settle in first before sliding in beside her, wrapping his arm around her waist and slipping the other one beneath the pillow her head’s resting on. He nestles his face into her hair and breathes in the scent of her shampoo.

“Jughead?” she whispers after she’s turned out the lamp and the room’s cloaked in darkness.

“Yeah?”

“If you wanted me to...return the favour...from this morning, I -”

“-I want _this_ ,” he replies honestly. “Just to lie here with you.”

It takes her a while to reply, and when she does he can hear the stifled yawn in her “Okay.”

Right as he’s drifting off, he thinks he hears her voice once more. “Merry Christmas.”

Maybe it’s just a dream. Regardless, he mumbles those words back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some of you didn't want to skip straight over the kiss from the previous night. I hope this was to your satisfaction.


	7. Day Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this chapter. Christmas has well and truly taken over and I've lost all track of the date and also what time it's acceptable to start drinking... Thank you for the comments and kudos last chapter. Keep them coming!

Betty had planned on making a big Boxing Day brunch. There was to be waffles and frittata, home fries and eggs and crispy bacon and blueberry-maple syrup. When making said plans however, she hadn’t foreseen waking up with Jughead’s lips butterflying kisses across the exposed strip of skin of her stomach. So now, she figures Boxing Day brunch is going to be more of a mid-afternoon pancake-fest because there’s no way she’s leaving this bed any time soon. 

Jughead, it seems, is more than okay with this.

“Good morning,” she says softly, raking her fingertips through his scalp. 

“Mmmm,” he murmurs against her skin. “Morning.”

She giggles but soon quietens when he pulls himself back up so they’re eye-level and he can capture her lips with his. 

They kiss lazily and she feels something pull inside of her stomach when his thumb presses softly against her jawline. Jughead’s lips, slightly chapped as they are from the cold, manage to coax a series of gentle sighs from her mouth that have Betty wondering why she’d resisted him when they could’ve been doing this a couple days earlier. When he stills, she opens her eyes to find him looking at her so tenderly that she almost pulls away.

“What?” she asks in a barely-audible whisper.

He swallows and she thinks there might be a nervousness overtaking him. “The other night - you said you hadn’t…. That you’re….”

He doesn’t want to say the word  _ virgin _ . And yet, that’s precisely what she is. 

She nods.

“I just want you to know we don’t have to….I don’t  _ expect _ anything.”

Betty thinks her heart may have just stuttered out of rhythm. “I know.” She takes a deep breath. “But I think I want to. Have sex with you, I mean.” Her words are tentative and when they pierce the silence of the bedroom, they make her eyes close in embarrassment. They are, however, truthful. 

Jughead stares at her for what feels like hours, his eyes watching hers, his thumb resting just besides the corner of her lips. And then he nods. “Okay.”

She’s not sure whether he means _ okay, we’ll have sex _ or _ okay, that’s good to know  _ or even  _ okay, I’m getting the hell out of this situation _ . He exhales a long breath with his eyes closed and she’s ready for him to roll off of her, to make his excuse to head for the bathroom and then avoid her for the rest of the day, but instead, he drops a kiss to her forehead and asks,

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” she says, then feels her stomach clench in anticipation.

“Okay.”

(She now knows what that word meant earlier)

Jughead kisses her again, gently to start off with, but with building pressure until Betty’s opening her mouth wide enough for him to slip his tongue inside and she’s snatching at pockets of air only because if she doesn’t, she’ll pass out before this is over.

His hands work their way beneath the t-shirt she’s wearing, thumb stroking the underside of her breasts so that she’s arching up into him and pulling his mouth into a grin that renders him unable to kiss her properly. When said thumb brushes against her nipple, a moan - muffled by his mouth - leaves hers and makes her centre throb that little bit harder.

He stops kissing her then, and she’s about to protest until she feels the hem of her t-shirt being lifted. Immediately after it’s tossed to the floor, his lips are sucking lightly at the pulse point just below her ear and this time when she moans, there’s nothing to muffle the sound.

He continues downwards - just like he had the previous morning - along the valley between her breasts, pausing to take each of her nipples in his mouth in turn before blowing a steady stream of air which does things to Betty that she could’ve never imagined.  _ How, she wonders, can he make her whole body ache by simply blowing _ ? 

She can hear her breath leaving her lungs in erratic gasps now, strangled both by anticipation and nerves because his face is getting lower and yet his hands are still stroking her breasts. She’s seen this in movies - acted, of course - and read about Christian Grey’s talents in the 50 Shades series like everyone else (the books were, naturally, hidden beneath pastel sweaters and read under the covers after her parents had gone to sleep) but nobody has ever put their lips on her _ there _ before.

He pauses and when she meets his eyes, he’s asking if he can remove her pajama shorts too. She lifts her hips and they join the t-shirt on the floor.

Betty knows she’s wet. She’s never had a boyfriend - or even one of those casual arrangements like Veronica had in the first couple months back in their dorm room that had made Betty simultaneously horrified and jealous - but she’s got herself off before (feeling somewhat guilty for some inexplicable reason she doesn’t want to explore) so it’s not like she  _ doesn’t _ know what feels good. 

But fuck if when Jughead presses his lips against her clit and she feels something that can only be described as  _ yes _ .

He uses his tongue next, licking a long line from her entrance to her clit which makes her jerk upwards. His fingers spread across her stomach and gently, he uses his palm to guide her back down, his other hand stroking the soft skin of her inner thigh before he repeats the action. Betty’s breath judders out of her and when her fingers claw at the sheets, Jughead’s palm moves to uncurl her fingers and lace them with his own. She thinks only momentarily of the scars there, but if he feels them he doesn’t say anything.

He swirls his tongue around her clit and she forgets everything else.

  
  
  
  


Veronica is in the kitchen - minus Archie - when Betty enters, hair still damp from her shower. She lifts a perfectly-manicured brow with an amused expression and Betty crosses to the coffee machine first, figuring she’s going to need something to do with her hands because her best friend is about to bombard her with questions.

“Where’s Archie?” she chances, hoping for a chance in Veronica’s focus.

“Shower. Where’s Jughead?”

The expression she’s wearing tells Betty she already knows the answer. “Shower.”

There’s a smirk that turns to a genuine smile next, before Veronica squeals excitedly, “Tell me you two had sex.”

“V!” she sighs, but it’s half-hearted. Besides, she guesses the involuntary smile that just crossed her lips says enough in itself.

“Betty Cooper, do  _ not _ deny me the details. Think about all of those sex stories I’ve shared with you.”

“That was your choice,” Betty replies. “I never asked to hear about….” she thinks of the time Veronica had recounted an experience with a security camera and an elevator and tries not to shudder. “Those.”

“Think of it as my Christmas present.”

“I got you earrings,” she retorts, hands clasped firmly around the coffee mug.

Veronica shifts tactics next, arranging her face into such an effective expression that Betty’s genuinely shocked at the level of manipulation. She figures Archie would probably give her anything in the world if she were to look at him like that whilst in bed. 

“We didn’t have sex,” she finally concedes. “But we did…  _ he _ did….other stuff.”

“Other stuff as in….” her eyebrow is raised again and her dark eyes are somehow bright.

“You know what I mean.”

“Did he make you come?”

“Veronica!”

“I’ll take that blush as a yes.”

Betty says nothing and takes a sip of her coffee. 

“Isn’t this perfect!?” Veronica squeals, just as Archie joins them, hands stretched above his head so that his t-shirt rides up revealing the bottom of his abs. Betty actually witnesses her friend’s eyes darken within seconds. 

“What’s perfect?” Archie asks, smiling as his girl reaches up on her tiptoes to give him a kiss which he smiles into. “Mmmm, besides that.”

“Betty and Jughead.”

“What about them?”

“They’re getting it on,” she replies - at the very moment Jughead walks into the kitchen. Betty flames from her toes to the tips of her ears; she daren’t look at the boy whose tongue she’d come undone against only an hour earlier.

“Dude!” Archie grins, “You and Betty!”

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Jughead stiffen, his own eyes sliding to her. “Uh…”

“That’s awesome!” Archie continues, either oblivious or unbothered by the sudden tension. “Now you don’t have to sleep on the couch. Hey Betty, are we still having that special brunch you were talking about?” 

She wants to laugh at the abrupt change, and suddenly feels rather fond of her new friend (if she can call him that; she supposes they haven’t really spent much time together)

“If you don’t mind it not being ready until after midday?”

Archie shrugs. “Any time is perfect. Did you say there’d be French toast?” He leaves Veronica’s side in order to take up a seat at the counter, after which everyone else but Betty follows suit. 

She hadn’t actually specified there being any but she’s so grateful to him in that moment that it doesn’t matter. “Of course.”

“I’m not sure what Jug and I are going to eat when we get back to the city; you’ve spoiled us.”

“Well... maybe you can come over,” Veronica suggests. “Our place isn’t too far from yours.” 

Betty watches Archie grin at the unusually shy expression on her best friend’s face.  _ She likes him _ , she realises.  _ Really _ likes him. She turns her attention to the eggs in the refrigerator as Archie says, “We’ll be there. The day after tomorrow too soon?”

Her heart sinks a little at the realisation that this little break is nearly over. They have another full day after this one, then it’s back to the city and to assignments she’s been so grateful not to have to write this week. It’ll also be back to the waitressing job she has a few evenings a week at a small but pretty busy diner close to campus.

“Definitely not,” she hears Veronica murmur. It seems she’s feeling the same way. 

  
  
  
  


They spend the remainder of the day after brunch having a Hitchcock movie marathon. Usually, Betty would be the first person to demand they choose something lighter - Star Wars even - but there’s something about the impending sense of doom as soon as the train tracks come into view that’s rather fitting.

Jughead’s hand finds its way onto her knee under the blanket they’re sharing; Archie whispers something to Veronica which makes her snuggle closer into his side, and Betty can’t find it in her to care what they watch. 

His hand drifts higher throughout the movie. Betty’s thoughts also drift - first to how he’d got her off earlier, then to where she’d like his hand to go right now, then to what might happen later once they’re in the privacy of her room. She feels her cheeks flush from it all, and whether or not he senses it, Jughead tilts his head to look at her and she feels her heart speed up all over again.

He shifts on the couch, squeezes her thigh and then whispers that she smells like waffles.

“It’s kind of making me hungry,” he adds, but there’s a darkness to his eyes that Betty hasn’t seen before. 

“I can make popcorn,” she says, but he shakes his head and looks over at Archie and Veronica, then steals a quick kiss.

“That’s not what I meant.”

She doesn’t pay attention to the rest of the movie.

By the time they’re halfway through Psycho, Veronica is stretched out on the couch she’s sharing with Archie, her head resting against his chest as he slides his fingers through the dark silk strands. Betty would like to do the same on the couch she and Jughead are sharing, but her whole body is thrumming and it’s taking a significant amount of control simply to stop her leg from bouncing. This is that point at which Alice would narrow her eyes, and question (in that suspicious, judgemental way she’d perfected over the past nearly-two decades) whether it might be a good idea for her to call her doctor.    

When Jughead nudges her with his elbow and whispers, “You okay?” she’s unbelievably grateful to be in Vermont. 

“I’m fine,” she whispers back - and means it. She’s just on edge for an entirely different reason. He slips his hand in hers and she spends the rest of the movie thinking about how different things are going to be three days from now when they can’t snuggle on a couch for an entire afternoon.  

  
  
  
  


In Betty’s left hand is a bra made of light pink lace. In her right, there’s a different one: black satin edged in a deep red that she’d bought the very first time she’d visited Victoria’s Secret after leaving Riverdale for college. It had been both exciting and overwhelming - being able to select something so daring, safe in the knowledge that her mom wouldn’t find it in her drawer and ask a million humiliating questions about whom it might have been purchased for - but until now, there’s never been the potential of anyone seeing it.

The pink one is comfortable and flattering in a sort-of shy, innocent way - which Betty supposes is probably quite fitting. Thing is, she’s already feeling a little awkward and if she  _ is  _ going to have sex with Jughead tonight, she wants to at least _ look _ as though she has confidence in the situation.

She puts the pink bra away and fastens the clasp of the black one before she can change her mind.

She’s spent longer than usual in the shower tonight, making sure her legs are smooth and her bikini line is neat (she hadn’t wanted to shave everything off but from what she’s read in those trashy magazines Veronica buys and seen in terms of hair removal options in the grooming section of CVS, she figures the less hair the better). Betty pulls on the pair of panties which match the bra, takes a quick look at herself in the mirror and then tugs on her Columbia sweater and pajama shorts so nobody will suspect anything while they’re enjoying the last bottle of wine left in their collection.

When she joins the rest of the group in the living room, Veronica is practically sitting in Archie’s lap, and so before she can overthink it, she settles herself next to Jughead and snuggles into his side. He tilts his head to indicate his surprise, but quickly lifts his arm so he can tuck her a little closer against him. Betty rests a hand on his leg, sees him eye the full length of hers, and fights the slightly satisfied smile tugging at her lips.

The wine goes down easily - perhaps a little too easily, but it does just enough to ward off the worst of Betty’s nerves. That is, until Veronica yawns dramatically, trails her fingertips over Archie’s chest and announces it’s time for her to go to bed.

“Archiekins?” she asks. “You coming?”

He’s up before she’s even finished her question, and she thinks she catches Jughead rolling his eyes at his friend. It only makes her smile.

“Night you two,” she adds with an exaggerated eyebrow raise, and suddenly all of those nerves that the Reisling had kept at bay come flooding back. Archie and Veronica head upstairs and then the only sound Betty can hear is the crack of the burning wood in the fireplace and her own pulse in her ears.

Jughead clears his throat. “Are you tired?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Do you… uh, do you want to watch another movie or something?”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat and Betty’s mouth is dry. “Do you?”

Only when his eyes lift to meet hers does she realise he’s been staring at her lips. The realisation makes her feel both dizzy and powerful. Her tongue darts out of its own accord to wet her own lips.

“No,” he says, voice rough.

The fire spits loudly. “Do you want to go upstairs?”

Jughead’s lips are parted and his breaths leave his mouth rather than his nose. “Do you?”

She swallows and it’s difficult. “Yes.”

His hand is in hers on the way from the living room to her bedroom and Betty’s heart thumps heavily in her chest. She can hear her own breathing; wonders if he can hear it too. The lamp is already on when they reach the door, its soft lighting bathing the room in a golden glow so that she doesn’t need to flick the switch for the main light overhead. Jughead closes the door gently behind them and stares at her.

“Your legs look really good in those shorts.”

His words make her laugh a little. “They’re pajamas Juggie.”

A grin twitches at his lips and he crosses over to where she’s standing. “They still look good.”

Betty takes a deep breath and says, “Maybe you could take them off?”

He kisses her then, catching her off guard despite the fact that’s what she’d been aiming for. His lips are warm and firm, hands cupping each side of her face as she breathes him in. She’s not sure how, but the backs of her knees hit the mattress and then he’s laying her down on the soft bedding, hands moving from her face to her hips and then underneath the baggy grey sweater.

His palms feel good against her skin. They’re soft but somehow a little rough too - not bold, but assured. Betty wants them everywhere.

“If you want to stop -” he starts, but she cuts him off by shaking her head and lifting the hem of her sweater over her head.

“I don’t want to stop,” she says.

Jughead’s eyes are fixed on her underwear. His fingers reach out to follow the line of deep red at the top of the black satin, the edge of them stroking just the right amount so she can feel it. Goosebumps break out across her skin.

“Your panties,” he half-gasps, like someone’s stolen most of the oxygen from his lungs. “Do…. Do they match?”

“Yes.”

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of her pajama shorts and waits for her to nod before he slowly tugs them down. The act in itself is torturous: she’s throbbing between her legs already and he’s looking at her like he can’t decide where to begin. 

“You look…” he starts, but the final word gets trapped between their lips when he dips his head to kiss her. Betty doesn’t care.

What she  _ does _ care about is the fact he’s still wearing his t-shirt and jeans. He’s made her come twice now, and both times he’s been fully-clothed (or at least, in pajama-form). She wants to see him.

Jughead continues to kiss her while she reaches for his t-shirt. He gets the hint and helps her out, breaking from her lips only to lift it over his head. It joins her pajamas on the floor and Betty lets her hands wander along the muscles in his back. She can feel them stretching and pulling; can feel every ridge of him as he moves his hands along the curve of her waist and up to the material covering her breasts. He unclasps the bra and slips the straps down her arms so he can draw it away from her body. Betty’s waiting for the sound of the drop when it hits the floor but either it never comes or she doesn’t hear it because his mouth closes around her nipple. Everything else becomes white noise.

She gasps and drags in some air before he swirls his tongue around and his teeth graze lightly. She’s hot all over. Gone are the goosebumps from before and in their place is a tingling that burns when his hands land on her skin. Betty can feel the rough denim of his jeans against her thighs but she wants his skin. Wants more of _ him _ .

Her hands reach blindly for his belt and when her fingers fumble with the metal, Jughead helps her out. He kicks them off and then he’s left just in his boxers. She can see the beginnings of an erection pushing at the material of his boxers, and she’s nearly overwhelmed at the thought that he’ll be inside of her soon. 

It’s what she wants, but it’s also terrifying.

His fingers rub over the material of her panties. “Betts,” he groans. “You’re soaking.”

She flushes again but his fingers slip under the material, thumb sliding over her clit and the words she’d been about to say turn into a low moan. 

Betty’s over the edge way before she wants to be.

While she catches her breath, Jughead peppers kisses across her collarbone and down her stomach. Heat’s already pooling at her centre again when the sweep of dark hair that falls across his forehead brushes the material of her panties, but she thinks suddenly of the packet of birth control pills she’d gotten from the doctor and hasn’t yet begun to take. The pills are in the little set of drawers beside her bed back in New York and nerves steal some of her breath.

“Do you have...uh...protection?” she asks Jughead.

He presses a kiss just below her belly button and then lifts his head. “Yeah, I - in my pocket.”

He leaves the bed to fish the packet from the back pocket of his jeans, and Betty’s shocked to see the way his boxers have tented. He sees her looking and says gently,

“We don’t have to,” but again, she shakes her head.

“I want to.”

He kisses her and then removes her panties. She watches with what might be a strange fascination at the way his length bobs upwards once he’s taken off his boxers. He rolls on the condom quickly and then looks back at her, his eyes so soft when he says,

“We can stop any time.” 

He positions himself at her entrance and Betty tries to slow her heart rate. Her palms are turned down to face the mattress but he slides his fingers in each of them so that they’re facing the ceiling. She can tell he’s looking at the scars there. “Some of these are recent.”

Betty’s not sure if he wants a response but she nods anyway. Jughead kisses her forehead. “Maybe you can tell me later.”

She nods again and pulls him further against her, but there’s a hesitance when his cock brushes against her.

“I won’t break,” she whispers.

Jughead nods, lays his lips against the column of her neck, and slowly pushes inside.

  
  
  
  


It  _ does  _ hurt, but she’s prepared for it. 

She breathes carefully as each inch of him disappears inside of her walls. She feels impossibly full, like she’s been stretched almost to breaking point and although it’s not bad, it’s uncomfortable. Jughead rests his forehead on hers and she can tell he’s holding back a groan when he asks, “Okay?”

“Okay,” Betty whispers, glad of his hands in hers when he pulls back a little and slides back in again. This time, he  _ does _ let out a groan.

“Fuck,” he mumbles against her skin as she lifts her hips in encouragement for him to move again. He does, slowly at first, but with increasing speed until there’s a steady rhythm she can anticipate.

After a few minutes, though it’s still not painless, it starts to hurt a little less and there’s an undertone of pleasure, like the stretching is a good thing; like being full of  _ him _ is a good thing.  

Jughead comes no more than five minutes later, eyes closed and ragged breaths stuttering out of him against her neck. 


	8. Epilogue

“You know, if we get trapped by the storm, Veronica’s going to kill me,” Archie sighs, tilting his head so he can observe the gathering clouds. “Or at the very least cut off my fingers so I can never play guitar again.”

“We’ll get there before the storm hits,” Jughead replies, more convincingly than he feels. The sky is incredibly dark already and they haven’t even gotten off route 87 yet. Despite the fact that every forecast he’s listened to in the past two days has said the snow isn’t due to land until tonight -  _ after _ they’re scheduled to arrive at the lodge - it’s looking more and more likely that it’ll be here within the next couple hours. That’ll leave them with a usual two-hour drive to do in rapidly falling snow. 

It’s worth it, he thinks. It’ll  _ be _ worth it.

“I don’t get why you had to work until this morning.”

“I told you,” Jughead replies, glancing in his wing mirror before pulling out to overtake a truck. “I need the money. Besides, you could’ve travelled up with Betty and Veronica.”

Archie scoffs and throws another chocolate-covered raisin into his mouth. “Dude, I love Ronnie, but if I spend six hours driving with her, I probably  _ won’t _ love her by the end. She’s literally the worst passenger in the world. I feel bad for Betty.”

Jughead just smiles. He’s travelled with his best friend’s girlfriend once - when she’d booked them all flights to Cabo a year last summer, ‘just because’. He’d been reluctant to accept the ticket at first, citing that it was too much (she had, after all, known him no more than seven months) and he didn’t have the money to pay her back, but she’d waved his response away as ridiculous; Archie had told him just to accept it, and Betty had given him a sneak preview of the red bikini she’d bought for the trip. So yeah, he’d boarded the flight - he’d have been a fool not to.  

For all of Veronica Lodge’s head-held-high confidence, he had been surprised to discover that she’s remarkably jumpy and anxious when travelling. And if there’s anyone in the world who can help with that, it’s Betty.

It was a while before she really opened up about those crescent-shaped scars on her palms:  _ “I get anxious sometimes; I know it shouldn’t, but this makes it feel better.”  _ He’d accepted that, back in that bed with its solid pine frame when she’d snuggled up against his chest after choosing  _ him _ to be the person she lost her virginity to. He hadn’t wanted to pry, had just held her palms in his to keep them safe from her nails.

But then, they’d returned to New York and he’d taken her on an actual date - a lot later than he should’ve. They’d caught the train one weekend when she hadn’t been working at the diner close to Columbia’s campus and he hadn’t been studying for a test. They’d ridden it all the way to Coney Island, both of them with cameras around their necks (he’d brought along his old one for her to use so he could teach her a little more about framing) so they could explore the amusement park in the grips of a cold February winter.

She’d never been before and he hadn’t been since he was a kid, when his parents had treated him and Jellybean to their very first trip to the beach. Even then, the paint had been peeling and the iron rusting, but there’d been a certain charm in the decay that he remembered long after the exhilaration of riding the Cyclone had faded.

They’d made the trip early in the morning, meeting at Broadway and Lafayette before dawn had even broken, so that they’d arrive before anything was open. The car had held a scattering of people, their voices low or silent so that he and Betty had been forced into a whispered conversation until they’d reached 50 St and it had just been the two of them. At that point, overwhelmed by the need to kiss her, Jughead had pulled her so she was half on his lap, squealing at the surprise of it all, and then sealed his lips over hers.

“What was that for?” she’d asked breathlessly, eyes shining.

He’d shrugged, like it was simple. (It  _ was _ simple) “Because I wanted to.”

They’d taken various photos: the deserted rides framed by the rusting iron railings; the weeds poking their heads from the soil in readiness to begin their climb up the fence; the boardwalk with the waves crashing angrily in the background; the boarded-shut hotdog stands.

“What do you think?” he’d asked, linking their gloved hands as they walked along the deserted boardwalk.

She’d sighed, the wind whipping her hair around her face. “It seems sad. Almost like….”

“Everyone’s forgotten about it?”

“Yeah.” 

“It gets busy again in the summer,” he’d told her. “But it’s harder to notice the decay with the crowds of visitors.”

He remembers Betty turning towards him at that point, a questioning look on her face. “What’s the appeal?” she’d asked, “Of taking pictures when the subject’s pretty sad?”

He’d thought about it for a moment, wondered if he should change the answer he was about to give. “Reminds me of where I grew up, I guess.”

She’d deserved the truth (always  _ deserves _ the truth). They’d stopped walking and she’d pressed her lips together, looking at him for a moment before saying, “I’d like to hear about it some time. About your childhood.”

She’d bought hot dogs for them both before they’d caught the subway back to the city, even though he’d been adamant that she deserved something better than questionable cylindrical-shaped meat shoved into a sweet bun.

“I want the full experience Juggie,” she’d said, kissing him with numb lips before adding mustard. “That includes a hot dog.”

On the journey back, she’d removed her gloves in order to eat the food she’d bought. The crescents he’d seen back in Vermont were still there - some faded, some which were sore and red. Betty had seen him look, and rather than curling her fingers back in towards her palm, she’d gnawed on her lip, exhaled deeply and told him,

“It started when I was fifteen. When everything got too overwhelming and I couldn’t shut it out….I don’t know. I guess the sting of the cuts was … uh…  _ is _ something to focus on. Just for a little while.”

“A release?” He’d asked and she’d nodded.

“I can control it. Sometimes…” she’d sighed again and finally curled her hands back into fists. “Sometimes I just don’t.”

She’d rested her head on his shoulder the whole ride back. He’d held onto her a little tighter after that. 

Betty _ did _ eventually let him take her out to dinner at a tiny restaurant in Little Italy that he’d come across after he’d accidentally taken a wrong turn one afternoon. He’d wanted to repay her for all the cooking she’d done back in Vermont even though she’d said it had been her pleasure. 

He hadn’t planned on telling her he loved her only four months into their relationship; certainly hadn’t banked on hearing her say it back. But he did and he had and they’d skipped dessert in favour of going back to her room.

(He’d eaten  _ her _ anyway)

  
  
  
  


“Shit,” Archie mutters as the first flake of snow falls. “Ronnie’s going to kill me.”

“You’ve said that already,” Jughead replies, stepping on the gas a little more heavily. The car speeds by another truck and he pulls back in to the second lane. 

“Because it hasn’t gotten any less true.”

“We’ve only got an hour and a half left,” he says. “We can beat the storm.”

Dating Betty is obviously rubbing off on him: positivity had never been his strong suit, and yet here he is, knowing fine well they’re going to struggle within the coming half hour, and yet hoping they won’t.

“You think the girls will have food ready?”

_ The girls _ won’t, Jughead thinks. But  _ Betty _ will. “Yes.”

“I hope Betty’s making her apple pie for tomorrow. You know, why hasn’t she given Ronnie any cooking lessons?”

“No idea,” he replies. “Maybe you should suggest it as a Christmas gift.”

“Maybe I will,” Archie murmurs, and all Jughead can think is he’d better do it soon because there’s a ring box burning a hole in his suitcase; the money he’s saved over the past year now enough that it should go at least halfway to paying for a wedding his girl deserves, and a ticking time bomb in the form of Betty’s exchange in the coming semester. This is, of course, only if she says yes to his question.

Jughead keeps trying to not to dwell too heavily on that part.

Realising he wanted to marry her had hit one day, completely unexpectedly. He’d had an incredibly hard week studying for finals and they hadn’t seen each other for two: her finals week had been the one previous and in order not to get distracted (something that occurred with increasing frequency - not that he usually minded), they’d agreed to stay away from each other. Archie and Veronica had  _ not _ made the same agreement. (He’d been rather surprised later to find that both of them had made it through without any resits)

His plan after that final exam had been to go back to his room, have a shower and sleep until the following day when he’d made plans to meet Betty and head out to Sunset Park take photos and generally relax in the sun with a picnic.

He hadn’t expected to open the door to find her dressed in a white cotton sundress, cooking something that smelled impossibly amazing in his tiny kitchen. 

“Betty?”

“Jug, you’re home earlier than I thought!” she’d said, wiping her hands on the dish towel before crossing to him. He hadn’t been sure she wasn’t a figment of his imagination until she’d hugged him. “How did it go?”

“It...fine….Betts, what are you doing here?”

“I thought you’d be too tired to cook,” she’d replied. “And uh...I missed you. I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow.”

He’d kissed her, arms closing around her waist and then locking together, squeezing as much as he could without crushing her. That’s when the realisation had hit: he wanted to come home to her always. Pretty sundress, sweatpants, pajamas - it didn’t matter. He just wanted to know she’d  _ be there _ when he opened the door.

The thought hadn’t gone away when he’d woken with her in his arms the following morning. So he’d started saving, working every available hour there was, even when he was close to dropping from exhaustion and a particularly nasty bout of flu in late November (which Betty had, of course, nursed him through with homemade chicken soup and a seemingly endless supply of Kleenex). Every spare dollar he earned went into his bank account, first for the ring he picked out nearly half a year later, and then for whatever she might want if he’s lucky enough to get a ‘yes’. The last thing he wanted  _ (or wants _ ) is for to have to give up something because  _ he _ can’t give it to her.

  
  
  
  


“You think I should call Veronica and tell her about the snow?” Archie asks.

Jughead slides his eyes in the direction of his best friend, then returns them to the road where the lights of a snow plough are flashing ahead. He keeps his foot steady on the gas pedal, his hands with a secure grip on the steering wheel and wonders what his life might be like if Archie didn’t love a woman whose father could realistically hire a hitman to take him out without a second thought.

“And risk making her mad at you at least an hour earlier than she’d be anyway?”

“I guess when you put it like that, not calling makes sense.”

“We don’t even know that we’re going to be later than scheduled anyway,” Jughead replies, just as he’s forced to relax his foot on the pedal as traffic starts slowing down. He deliberately doesn’t meet Archie’s eyes. “Could be worse,” he adds. “You could be on your way to Florida right now.”

Archie sighs and shuffles in his seat. “Yeah, good point.”

Their previous Christmas had been spent apart: Betty had gone home to Riverdale; he’d stayed in New York having met her parents at their town’s Fourth of July celebrations (he thinks there might have been a reluctant offer for him to join them for Christmas Day itself, but not the day either side that he’d have needed for travelling) and had been in no desire to return to the ‘town with pep’; Veronica had flown out to her meet her parents at some five-star resort in Miami, and Archie, again not wanting to commit to leaving only one of his parents alone on Christmas Day, had agreed to go with her.

Jughead has never met Veronica’s father, but from Archie’s description, he doesn’t want to. 

After the unexpectedly perfect time they’d had two years ago, Christmas with their families (or, for Archie and him, Christmas avoiding their  _ broken _ families) was a reminder as to why they’d booked Maple Lodge in the first place. And so this year, when Archie had asked his girlfriend what her Christmas plans were and she’d suggested getting away from everything, the cosy house with its large fireplace and promise of a private hot tub seemed a logical conclusion. Veronica had offered the invite to Betty, who’d tried not to show her eagerness at spending their second anniversary in the place where they met.

At that point, Jughead had already realised he’d do whatever made her happy.

Besides, being shut off from the rest of the world with his girl and his best friends (and yes, strangely enough Veronica  _ is _ one of them) is pretty much his idea of heaven.

  
  
  
  


Finally, they reach Warren. It’s just under three miles to the lodge but they’re already way later than they were due to arrive and neither of them have cellphone reception. Jughead assumes it’s a result of the storm dumping so much snow: the winter tyres on the car have done their job but it’s late on Christmas Eve and they haven’t passed a plough in at least an hour. The snow had stopped for a while but it’s coming down again and he can tell the car is struggling. The road curves to the left and the incline grows steeper, the tyres losing purchase. They slide a little and he hears Archie mutter, 

“Shit.” 

With a little difficulty, they struggle on as the road curves again - sharper this time, and with an even steeper incline. Jughead can hear the whir of the tyres on the slippery surface and when they skid, he steers into it to avoid losing what little grip they have left. 

“Not sure we’re going to -” he starts, guiding the car as best he can until they hit a patch of ice and judder to a stop. “Make it.”

“I can get out and push,” Archie volunteers, removing his seatbelt before Jughead’s even had chance to reply. He checks his phone quickly but from the way he stuffs it back into his pocket, Jughead assumes there’s still no service. 

They manage to get the car moving again but its not long before the gradient is too steep to keep going and so they reluctantly make the decision to leave the car at the side of the road - much like they’d done two years ago. 

They each grab the holdall they’d brought and start walking.

His feet are at that stage between being numb and hurting like hell from the wetness that’s seeped through his boots, but after close to an hour of uphill hiking, he and Archie finally make it to the lodge. Veronica’s Lexus is parked outside, the snow piled atop of it letting them know that the girls most likely haven’t ventured anywhere today - at least, not by car. 

“Thank God,” he hears Archie mutter, and he feels exactly the same. What he needs is some food, a shower and his girlfriend (in precisely the reverse order).

The door is unlocked when he tries the handle, which unnerves him a little because he’d rather Betty be safe out here in the thick of the trees, but he  _ is _ grateful that he doesn’t have to spend any longer outside in the freezing weather.

The girls must hear the door open because within seconds, they both come running towards them, worry etched across their faces. Jughead doesn’t see anything else because Betty’s flinging herself into him and he’s surrounded by a curtain of blonde.

“I was so worried!” she gasps against his neck, tightening her hold around him. “I thought…” she trails off, and he already knows what she means.

“I’m sorry baby,” he whispers, letting his freezing hands wander under the material of her sweater. She jumps at the touch and extracts herself from his arms, examining his face with those round green eyes of hers. 

“You’re freezing! Did you walk?”

“Yeah, the car wouldn’t go any further. We did the last two and a half miles on foot,” he replies.

“Jesus Jug!” She’s stroking her hands across his face now, trailing her fingertips down the back of his neck and she’s too much: too overwhelming when he hasn’t seen her in days. “You should take a shower and warm up,” she tells him softly.

He shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. Just need to take my boots and socks off. I’d rather hang out with you for a bit.”

“Oh,” Betty replies, her eyes flitting quickly to Archie and Veronica and then back again. Her voice is low when she says, “I was thinking I could join you.”

Oh  _ fuck yes _ , he thinks. Maybe this is his anniversary present. She must take his grin as a good enough answer because before he knows it. She’s tugging him by the hand towards the stairs.

He has no idea what Archie and Veronica are doing. (He doesn’t care)

  
  
  
  


Later, once they’ve eaten the spaghetti and homemade garlic bread Betty had made (accompanied with a side salad emptied out of the packaging by Veronica) and they’re sprawled out on the couches with the fire roaring, Betty offers to help him unpack. He thinks of the ring box tucked safely between his flannel shirts and gabbles a quick,

“No, it’s fine. I’ll do it later.” 

“It’s no trouble,” she offers again, but Jughead tightens his arms around her waist and nuzzles his nose into her hair. She smells like vanilla.

She  _ always _ smells like vanilla.

“Lie here with me,” he says quietly. “Be my blanket.”

He can sense her smile rather than see it, and his own lips crinkle upwards too. If anyone would’ve told him just two years ago that Betty would be the result of a vacation away from everyone and everything, he couldn’t have even contemplated it. And now he’s carding his fingers through her hair, trying to figure out where the best place to ask her to marry him might be.

He’d initially been thinking about taking a walk further up the road to the place where they first took photos together, but there’s something about the idea that doesn’t quite seem right. He’s not going to do it beside the Christmas tree here in the living room - isn’t ready for that level of cheesiness - but there must be  _ somewhere _ perfect enough, he thinks.

“We should put our gifts under the tree,” Veronica says sleepily a little while later, lifting her head off of Archie’s chest just enough for Jughead to be able to see over his girlfriend. “Before we all pass out here and wake up tomorrow with a bare space next to the trunk.”

“Good plan,” Betty mumbles, turning her face into his neck and making no attempt to actually extract herself from his arms. Not that he’s complaining.

“Hey,” he says in barely more than a whisper, dusting a kiss to her crown. “I’m gonna go help Archie with his gifts for Veronica.”

“I’m up,” she mumbles again, very much  _ not _ up, and Jughead chuckles. 

“You can stay here. No peeking.” He lifts her a little so he can stand, then gently lays her head back down on the couch. She looks up at him through sleepy eyes and he feels his heart stutter. “I mean it,” he adds.

Betty smiles, forms her lips into an open pout which he kisses, and then whispers, “No peeking.”

After he’s done helping Archie position the rather impressively-wrapped boxes for Veronica under the tree, Jughead puts the wrapped signed edition of Toni Morrison’s  _ Beloved _ alongside them. 

“C’mon sleepyhead,” he says, stroking her back. “You need to go to bed.”

“Give me two minutes,” she says, stretching and lifting her head. “I’ll go get your gift and then I’ll join you upstairs.”

  
  
  
  


Jughead’s waiting for her when she finally crawls into that pine-framed bed beside him dressed in his old NYU t-shirt and a pair of dark blue lace panties. She’s an absolute vision even with the red around her eyes and her hair kind of mussed from lying haphazardly on him on the couch. The ring box is now tucked safely into the bedside drawer - just in case for some reason she decides to go looking through his stuff (not that she ever has before, or that he expects her too, but he’d rather take the precaution) 

“I’m so glad we’re here this year,” she says, snuggling into his side. “Back in this bed.”

“So the  _ bed  _ is the reason we made the trip?” he teases, encircling his arms so he can pull Betty even closer.

“What can I say,” she whispers, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “A lot of good things happened in this bed.”

And there it is, he realises. The perfect place to ask her to marry him is where they are right now, comfy and cosy beneath the covers; his hand on her thigh; hers trailing indiscriminate patterns across his chest.

“Betts?” he asks, sitting up which means her position is disturbed, something she makes a point of voicing with a rather cute whine. “Just… um… I have something for you.”

She rubs at her eyes. “Like a present?”

“Kind of.”

“Shouldn’t we wait until Christmas Day?”

“It’s just, I wanted to give it to you while it’s just us,” he replies, suddenly finding it incredibly difficult to swallow.

“An anniversary present?”

“Not exactly.”

“Oh,” she says softly. “Well colour me intrigued.”

Jughead’s heart is hammering away so hard inside of his chest that he wonders whether she might be able to hear it. The bedside lamp is on, offering a soft glow that picks out the green of her eyes, so he takes a deep breath and swallows. “Remember in our Freshman year and I came home to find you cooking lasagna in that shitty little kitchen on the day of my last finals exam?”

“Yes,” Betty answers, tilting her head so it’s resting partly on his stomach.

“Well I realised something then. And I didn’t tell you - maybe I should have, but I didn’t. I just… I never had anyone before that would  _ be _ there when I got home. Making me dinner or, I don’t know, even just waiting for me I guess. And I realised I wanted that forever.” 

He reaches over to the drawer and searches with his hand until he can secure his fingers around the box. 

“I guess I could’ve just told you all of that but I wanted to make it more real.  _ Shit, _ not that it’s not real, but -”

“- Juggie, what are you trying to say?”

He opens the box and shows it to her, his voice choked. “I’m trying to ask you to marry me.”

Betty gasps first, sitting bolt upright with her eyes wide and watering. Her gaze is fixed on the ring for a long time, but eventually her eyes track upwards to his. “Ask me,” she whispers with trembling lips. “ _ Ask _ me.”

“Betty Cooper, will you marry me?”

She bursts into tears at that, palming the sides of his face with her hands as she kisses him. 

“That a yes?”

“ _ God  _ yes,” she laughs, a sob choking her answer but he can see the way her eyes are shining underneath the tears.

He slides the ring into her fourth finger. “You were right,” he says, kissing her once more. “A lot of good things  _ do _ happen in this bed.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've reached the end! I hope you've all enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. It would mean a lot of you could take the time to drop a little comment in that box...you know...give me some encouragement for my next story ;)
> 
> Hope you all have the best New Year x

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always greatly appreciated


End file.
